


Remember Enough for the Both of Us

by DaftPunk_DeLorean



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: ALL FEELS ALL THE TIME, Amnesia, Angst, Eventual Smut, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Science Boyfriends, Slow Build, Thor is not a dummy, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-01
Updated: 2016-10-21
Packaged: 2017-12-16 17:43:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 84,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/864823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaftPunk_DeLorean/pseuds/DaftPunk_DeLorean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if a terrible accident causes Bruce to forget who Tony is when he Hulks out? Years of love, life, and memories lost in a single incident. Can they ever recover what they lost without being destroyed in the process? And what if they do, and it happens again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was years since New York. Years since Bruce needed to let the Hulk out. Not that there weren't threats or battles, but nothing like the Chitauri, and nothing Bruce couldn’t sit out. Instead, he waited “on-call” in the helicarrier, sometimes pacing, sometimes meditating, and always uncomfortable, until Tony was back and they rushed into each other’s arms hard and fast in abject relief that they made it through another one together. 

“I hate not having you out there,” Tony murmured into Bruce’s neck one night after a particularly bad fight, as Bruce moved breathlessly under him. His Bruce. The only reason he could pull himself out of bed or from the lab or away from the bar sometimes, if he were being totally honest here. Shy, sweet, brilliant Bruce, with a dark thread of instability and merciless rage, always tightly controlled and slightly defeated, hovering on the outskirts of everyone’s thoughts but his. 

“I want to be there with you,” Bruce breathed. “I don’t like not being able to see you’re all right…” his words trailed as his breath hitched, Tony shuddering over him. 

“Jesus, you’re beautiful like this,” Tony gasped, trailing his thumb across Bruce’s pink bottom lip, gazing at his parted mouth, flushed cheeks, and unruly curls though lowered lashes. Tony ghosted his lips across Bruce’s. “You have no fucking idea how much I love you.” Bruce’s eyes slid closed and he breathed against Tony’s mouth.

“Not nearly as much as I love you.”

Two months later, they got their chance. The threat was all-encompassing; inter-dimensional armies tended to be like that. Hulk crushed the enemies with unbridled wrath and unmatched strength, staying close to Tony in the most difficult battle of their lives so far. It was a fucking miracle they made it out at all, Tony thought as he sat in his nearly-crushed armor next to Bruce’s unconscious body, in a grey pile of blood-spattered rubble and alien bodies. Bruce’s hand was draped loosely in one of his gauntleted palms; Tony waited for him to wake, listening to grim field reports coming in from the others. He nudged alien bodies away from them with his foot, swallowing down bile and trying not to think about that too hard, looking down at a slight stirring under his palm.

“Hey. Wake up Bruce, you’re fine, we’re all fine,” he murmured reassuringly, stroking the hair off Bruce’s forehead with the other hand. Bruce coughed lightly, opening his eyes and squinting against the sun. At least there was bright sun, Tony always thought after that day; so the look on Bruce’s face could be burned into his retinas forever. Bruce’s eyes were confused. 

“What’re you…” Bruce looked around him and scrambled weakly to sit up. “Shit, did I hurt anyone?” he asked quietly with a note of despair in his voice. Tony smiled and squeezed his hand.

“No, just the ones who needed to be hurt. Let’s go, we-“ His words were cut off when Bruce looked down at Tony’s gauntlet and snatched his hand away, looking Tony’s armor up and down with growing alarm. 

“What… why are you holding my hand?” he asked suspiciously, slowly pushing away from Tony in the rubble, trying to cover himself with what was left of his pants. Tony furrowed his brow at him. 

“Bruce. Seriously? I always hold your hand. Why would it be any different just because you’re naked and covered in concrete dust?” Bruce shook his head, looking around him, like he was waiting for someone to jump out and scare them. 

“No, no… I don’t…” he scrutinized Tony’s face carefully. “Who _are_ you?”


	2. Chapter 2

Tony could feel blood draining from his face. This was wrong. Very, very wrong. 

“Bruce, what do you mean, who am I? Are you OK?” Tony stood to walk to Bruce, freezing when Bruce scrambled back a little further and held up his hand defensively.

“Whoa, that’s… that’s close enough,” Bruce said with a tight edge to his voice, eyeing Tony’s armor. “You wanna tell me what’s going on here?” He looked around, taking in the bloodied concrete and wailing sirens mere blocks away. “Where am I?”

Tony slowly lowered himself to his knees, so he was kneeling in front of Bruce, still too far away to touch him. He tried to breathe deeply as that horrible, sinking, icy feeling of dread settled in his gut; that feeling you get when you get a phone call in the middle of the night that someone you love has been in an accident, and you don’t know if they’ll be OK.

“Bruce,” he said quietly, reaching for him. “It’s me, Tony. C’mon, you’re scaring me here. We’re in New York, you know, fighting? The aliens? Hulk and Iron Man, the Rage Against the Machine?” 

“ _Tony, is everything all right?_ ” Steve’s concerned, breathless voice came through his earpiece; shit, of course they’d heard everything through his mic. 

“Dammit Cap, no! Something’s wrong with Bruce!” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes again, studying Tony’s face. 

“Tony who?”

“Tony who- Bruce, Tony Stark! Your partner, your boyfriend! Don’t you remember? The Avengers?” Tony said helplessly. Bruce’s eyes went suddenly wide and terrified, and he lurched to his feet, clutching his shredded pants and stumbling back on the uneven rock. 

“Tony Stark? The weapons developer? _That_ Tony Stark?” He looked around him in a panic, like a wounded animal looking for an exit. “Look, I don’t know what you and Ross think you’re planning, but I just want to be left alone, okay? Just… I don’t want any trouble, okay? Please, just leave me alone!”

Tony suddenly had a flash of how he must look, bristling in armor and weapons; he stood immediately, ripping off his helmet and shucking the armor until it lay about him in a pile, standing there in the jeans and black tank that he’d been wearing then the call came in. He held up his hands, open, to Bruce.

“Bruce, no! That’s, not- we’ve been together almost two years! You’re not remembering, there’s something wrong…” He patted his chest. “It’s me? Don’t you remember? We live in Stark Tower? Please, Bruce…” He could feel his throat tightening, heart hammering in his ears. Bruce was shaking his head, pressing the heel of one of his hands against his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“No! That’s… Last I remember was Kolkata…” He looked up sharply. “Natasha talked to me…” His head whipped around when he heard footsteps coming around the corner, rushing to make himself small against the wall. Tony looked in time to see Steve jogging around the corner, cowl missing, uniform slashed across the chest and arms.

“Tony, what’s going on?” he asked. Tony raked his hands through his hair, and was pacing and turning like he didn’t know what to do with his body. 

“I don’t know, he woke up, and kind of freaked out, and he doesn’t remember anything after Kolkata…” his voice trailed off, threatening to crack, as he twisted his fingers together nervously. He wanted to rush to Bruce, hold him and tell him it would be okay. Steve turned slowly to Bruce and lowered his shield. 

“Bruce, buddy. Do you remember me? It’s Steve. We need to get you back home, okay?” He held out a red-gloved hand, which Bruce eyed with incredulity. 

“Are you… are you Captain America?” he asked. Steve nodded.

“I am, we’re friends, we work together, okay?” He looked over his shoulder to Tony. “Don’t you have a picture or something in your wallet?” Tony’s eyes lit up as he scrabbled in his pants pocket, finally pulling out two small photos that Bruce printed for him at the insistence that sometimes analog was better than digital. He scoffed at the time, but couldn’t be more grateful now. One photo was of the team, taken candidly after the Battle of New York, everyone dirty, uniforms torn, but all leaning on each other and wearing tired smiles. Hulk was standing over everyone with his hand curled around Tony, who sat on Hulk’s shoulder in his armor. The other was one Steve had taken while they were all on vacation; Tony and Bruce were draped sideways over a hammock in swim trunks with the beach behind them, Tony with a drink in his hand and Bruce with a book in his. Bruce had a cocktail umbrella behind his ear, and was turned sideways kissing Tony on the cheek, who was laughing, happy little crinkles forming around his eyes. Tony handed the photos to Steve, who held them out for Bruce.

“Look, there’s you, and the rest of us, and you and Tony on the beach.” His voice softened. “I took that photo, Bruce. We were all on vacation together in the Polynesian Islands. Don’t you remember?” 

Bruce reached out with a tentative, trembling hand and took the photos, studying them with a furrowed brow. He flipped the vacation photo over, frowning at a note in his thin, slanting script; “ _Love you Tone, don’t ever change, BB._ ” Tony met his eyes when Bruce finally looked up.

“Believe me now?” Tony whispered. Bruce nodded, and Tony couldn’t stop himself from rushing to grip him in a crushing hug. Bruce didn’t hug back, his hands hovering uncertainly over Tony’s back, like he didn’t know where to put them. “C’mon, we need to get you to SHIELD medical,” he said, gesturing for Steve to help, while he got his armor back on. Once the faceplate was closed, he let out a shuddering breath and tried to ignore the prickling in the corners of his eyes as he lead them back to the Quinjet.


	3. Chapter 3

The relatively large exam room seemed crowded, not helped by the fact that at least seven voices were arguing over each other. Bruce sat stiffly on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed in loose linen trousers and a casual button-down that someone had brought for him after he had been examined and debriefed and poked until his eyes flared green, hunched over on himself with his head cradled in his fingertips as if it were made of glass. Tony hovered near him, arguing with the others. 

“They said he should come home! If he’s going to remember anything, it’s not going to be locked up in here like some kind of fucking science experiment!” Natasha shook her head at him. 

“That’s fine, Tony, but this didn’t happen to him after the battle of New York. Why now? Something this time influenced this, it can’t be random!”

“Yeah, and there’s no one better to figure it out than me and him working on it in the lab at home, not here in some medieval, leech-bleeding, house of horror staffed with unpaid interns!” Tony’s voice rose to a shout as he moved to stand protectively between Bruce and the rest of the team, but everyone in the room was cut off abruptly when Bruce slammed his hands down and yelled over them. 

“Enough! You can all stop talking like I’m not sitting right here, for fuck’s sake!” He stopped and took a deep breath, voice softer. “I’d like a moment alone to speak with Mr. Star- er, Tony, please.” He stared at them defiantly until they filed out, one by one. He finally turned to Tony, eyes downcast and arms crossed over himself in a protective gesture that Tony hadn’t seen him do in at least a year. 

“Okay, I’d like to… go home, wherever home is. This place makes me, ah… distinctly uncomfortable.” He scrubbed his hand over his face. “Which I guess you probably already know,” he said, sighing. Tony sat next to him on the bed and reached for one of his hands, holding onto it even as he felt Bruce stiffen. 

“I’m sorry Bruce, we’re going to get this fixed, I promise.” Bruce’s lips pressed into a narrow line as he gingerly extricated his hand from Tony’s, tucking both his hands back under his armpits defensively as he wrapped himself in his arms again. Tony let his hand drop back to the bed, feeling both stupid and insensitive as he watched Bruce withdraw from him.

“Tony, if all this has happened the way you say it has, then I hope you can appreciate how difficult it is for me to…” he paused and waved a hand vaguely. “I suppose _accept_ is the right word here.” He looked up, finally meeting Tony’s eye. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of trusting people.” Tony nodded, rubbing his palms up and down the thighs of his jeans, feeling hollow. Thinking about rebuilding the trust that took so long for them to develop. Thinking about how long it’s been since Bruce felt trapped, and how he got to feel that way all over again.

“Yeah. No, I get it. I promise. Let’s just go home, okay? Maybe after you rest and have something to eat, things will start coming back…” he said with uncharacteristic quietness. The arduous process of checking out, the cacophony of doctor’s orders, the concerned presence of their friends following them; it was all enough to fill Tony’s mind momentarily, until he and Bruce were finally seated in the back of the Towncar in uncomfortable silence. Bruce pressed himself against the far door, where once he would’ve leaned against Tony or sprawled sideways with his head in Tony’s lap. Tony stared blankly at the back of the seat in front of him, chewing his thumbnail. Quiet. 

Eventually he lead the way into the penthouse, Bruce shadowing him, keeping himself as small as possible, even though his eyes were wide and wary the entire time. Tony gestured widely, a false smile on his face. 

“Well, this is home. I guess the first person you should meet is Jarvis. Say hi, Jarvis.” 

“Hello, Dr. Banner. It is a pleasure to have you back home.” Bruce looked up, startled. 

“Who is that?” he asked. Tony grinned a little. 

“Jarvis is the artificial intelligence I designed. He runs everything around here, so if you need anything or have any questions, just ask him. Right, J?”

“Of course, sir. Might I add, Dr. Banner, that I am a fully-integrated system, able to assist you in nearly all matters. I have the complete knowledge of every database in the world at the behest of my servers. I would also add that I am most distressed at your recent medical development, and eager that my vast banks of knowledge be of assistance in your speedy recovery.” Bruce put his hands on his hips and let his mouth hang open for the briefest moment of unguarded wonder and scientific curiosity. 

“Huh. Thanks, I suppose,” he said a little sardonically, shaking his head and crossing his arms again. Tony smiled and chuckled.

“See? He likes you. C’mon. Let me show you around.” He led them through the kitchen, the living room, the balcony, Bruce following him silently, pausing now and then to look at something, several times taking a breath as if he wanted to say something, but falling silent instead. Eventually they stopped outside of their bedroom, where Tony hesitated nervously before opening the door. “This is our bedroom. You don’t have to stay in here if you don’t want, or you can, and I can sleep somewhere else…” he added quickly. “Just… whatever you’re comfortable with…” 

He trailed off as he watched Bruce wander around the room, gently touching some things and picking up others, looking in a closet and toeing a small pile of his dirty clothes, grazing his fingers over a photo of the two of them on the bedside table. Tony kept quiet, disconcerted by Bruce’s silence and tension, traits that hadn’t dominated his demeanor like this since… well, since they first met. Bruce stood with his back to Tony and held a book in his hands, looking at the inscription inside the front cover, which Tony had scrawled in his small, tidy, draftsman's script. ‘ _To Bruce, my love. Get with the 21st century already; I put a copy on your tablet, too. Love, Tone._ ’ He slowly closed the book, but didn’t turn around.

“I think I’d like a guest room, if you have one,” he murmured. Tony’s heart clenched.

“Of course. They’re back this way,” he said, gesturing through the door, then going ahead when it became clear that Bruce wasn’t going to lead the way. When they entered a plain, tasteful, but austere room two doors down, Bruce again did a slow walk, looking closely at everything. He finally turned to Tony, twisting his fingers together, biting his lip, and looking very unsettled. 

“I’m sorry, Tony,” he murmured. “I just don’t remember any of this.” A muscle in Tony’s jaw twitched, and he crossed his arms over himself.

“It’s okay, Bruce. Just give it time.” He jerked his head over his shoulder. “Want to see your lab?” Bruce’s eyes lit up for the briefest of moments; that bright flare of inquisitive interest that danced in his hazel eyes when he was suddenly struck with scientific inspiration or was animatedly sharing the details of his latest cosmic radiation discovery with a bemused Tony. But that light quickly died, as if he were used to cutting off any hopes of something good for himself, so he wouldn’t be as disappointed when they were snatched from him later. 

“You mean… are you telling me I have my own lab?” his voice was a low, heartbreaking blend of suspicion and hope. Tony smiled, but not enough to really erase from his eyes what he was really feeling. 

“Yeah, ten floors of R&D. It’s like candyland, you’ll love it,” he murmured sadly, his smile not quite meeting his eyes. He led them to the elevator, where Bruce pressed himself into the corner opposite Tony. When the doors opened onto the concourse, Tony heard an audible gasp behind him, as Bruce pushed by him and tightly gripped the railing. The R&D department was a ten-floor atrium, filled with light and glass and steel, private offices and laboratories opening onto round concourses that looked down into a tree-filled indoor courtyard below. 

Tony almost laughed; he always took it for granted, but even two years later, he could find Bruce leaning against the railing outside his lab, staring thoughtfully at the trees or watching the bustle of scientists and engineers as he sipped his cooling tea contemplatively. Right now, the bustle continued on without heed to Bruce’s wide-eyed look of disbelief.

“This is mine?” he whispered.

“All of it,” Tony murmured. He moved to stand next to Bruce at the railing; close, but not too close. “You were appointed head of Research and Development for Stark Industries about a year and a half ago, unanimous vote from the Board of Directors. The top level is your private facility, you can even access it through a private elevator.” Bruce stepped back from the railing a moment, twisting his fingers together again nervously, and stood like that for a long time. 

“I don’t…” he started in a whisper. “I think I need to go back to my room for awhile.” Tony furrowed his brow.

“Don’t you want to actually see your lab?” Bruce shook his head, pushing past him and jabbing the elevator button repeatedly. 

“No, no- I need to get out of here…” He slid onto the elevator before the doors had even opened all the way, Tony on his heels.

“Bruce? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you-“ Bruce spun around, his eyes still wide and a definite note of hysteria in his humorless, manic laugh.

“No, Tony- you don’t understand, this is like… it’s like everything I’ve wanted and was dangled in front of me my whole life, or snatched from my hands, and I don’t…” he raked his hands roughly through his hair, causing the curls to stand on end. “I’m just- I’m not a nice guy! I ruin everything I touch! Why all this? Why now?” His eyes were guarded and imploring, still pressing himself against the wall. Tony gripped his shoulders.

“Bruce, you deserve all this! You’re brilliant and kind and heroic and I know you don’t remember, but I love you, and I want you to have anything you’ve ever wanted!” Bruce stilled, then smirked and twisted his shoulders out of Tony’s grip.

“So what? So I started dating you so I could get a roof over my head and a paycheck and… and…” he gestured at Tony’s body vaguely, then turned away from Tony, edging closer to the door. “I just- I don’t get nice things. I don’t get to be happy,” he breathed, crossing his arms tightly over himself again. 

“Dammit Bruce, that’s not true!” Tony spun him around so they could see each other. Jesus, it was like those first few months of having Bruce in the tower all over again. No matter what anyone told him, he sincerely, deeply believed he deserved the worst, and reacted in suspicious disbelief whenever something good happened to him. When the elevator doors opened, Bruce shrugged out of Tony’s grip, slid quickly between them and nearly ran back to his impersonal guestroom, while Tony stood helplessly in the penthouse foyer and watched him go, flinching a little when Bruce slammed the door.


	4. Chapter 4

It was two days before Tony saw Bruce again, Jarvis informing him that the other man apparently wandered the deserted labyrinth of corridors in the tower late at night with Jarvis’ guidance, and stayed in his room during the day, reading every report from the last two years that he could get his hands on and asking Jarvis innumerable questions about his life with Tony. Tony, for his part, stayed in his workshop and let Bruce have his space, hardly eating and definitely not sleeping, tinkering with pointless bullshit to keep his mind occupied. Until what, he didn’t know. Until… something. 

He leaned back on his workshop couch, absently watching the little paperclip robot that he made scuttle about the floor like a crab, while Dummy and U whirred inquisitively at it, raising their arms to look at him now and again with what Tony speculated was either curiosity or betrayal.

“Yeah, yeah, consider yourselves the middle children now. Not like you could act any brattier,” he muttered with an affectionate smirk, and tossed the towel he had tucked in his belt at Dummy, so it draped over his clawed head. Tony watched in mild, sleepy amusement as Dummy shook himself in a moment of mechanical panic, until U pulled the towel off. Dummy snatched it from U and immediately dropped it on the paperclip robot, eyed Tony pointedly, then turned and rolled away. Tony barked a short laugh.

“Jesus, you’re a fucking diva,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair and getting on the elevator. May as well refuel the coffee mainline. He was lost in thought as he entered the kitchen, seeing Bruce sitting in his usual spot on the stool at the kitchen counter, reading a book. He walked by, snaking a hand around Bruce’s waist and pressing a kiss just under his ear. 

“Morning, Green Bean,” he murmured, and he was halfway around the counter before he froze, whipping around to face Bruce, who looked like someone had just put a bucket of ice down his shirt. 

“I’m sorry- I forgot…” Tony breathed, his face nearly as red as Bruce’s. Fuck. Bruce shook his head, smirking a little, then looked down at his book.

“It’s okay,” he mumbled. “Just not used to people willingly touching me.” He didn’t look back up, and Tony sighed, shuffling to the fridge to pull out breakfast stuff. In their time together, Bruce had managed to teach Tony how to make precisely three dishes; and a prize-winning omelet was one of them. A far cry from the revolting shit he used to call an omelet, at least. He set to work while the coffee brewed, mind a hundred miles (and at least a year) away. Before long, he was sliding a plate in front of Bruce and taking the seat next to him.

“Eat up. This masterpiece represents at least a year of effort on your part, so enjoy the fruits of your labor.” Bruce was already reaching for a fork before Tony had finished. He took a bite of egg, peppers, turmeric, and sauce, and his eyes lit up. 

“A masala omelet!” He said with some surprise, and the first real, genuine, actual smile Tony had seen from him since the battle. “These are my favorite, I haven’t gotten to eat one of these in months…” his smile fell. “Well, months from my perspective, at least,” he finished quietly. Tony smiled at him softly.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s about the only thing I know how to make, you’ll get tired of them soon enough.” Bruce took another bite, chuckling softly. They ate in reasonably comfortable silence, Bruce reading, Tony looking at the news on a tablet he grabbed from a table in the other room. Tony was flipping between apps, when Bruce’s hand suddenly grabbed his wrist, which he immediately released as if he’d been burned. 

“Wait. Is that us?” he asked, pointing at the wallpaper on the tablet and not acknowledging their brief touch. The photo was of the two of them in Tony’s workshop, leaning against Dummy, laughing, and flipping off the camera. Tony grinned.

“Yeah, we were being assholes that day.” He passed the tablet to Bruce, who looked at it with a small smile for a moment, before handing it back. 

“Do you have more?” 

“Yeah, c’mon,” he said, heading for the living room, where Bruce sat at the far corner of the couch.

Tony sat next to him, purposely making sure he didn’t bump Bruce’s thigh with his own; keeping that distance that tore him a little further apart each time he had to do it. He handed Bruce the tablet, pulling up a stream of photos. 

“Maybe looking at some pictures might help,” he said quietly, almost holding his breath in hopes that this might bring back even the tiniest of memories. Bruce nodded and slowly scrolled through the pictures, occasionally smiling or furrowing his brow. Tony glanced surreptitiously sideways at him, searching for any spark of recognition, then laughed a little when they got to a picture of Hulk giving Clint a noogie, Clint’s face red and legs kicking. 

“Oh my God, I’d almost forgotten about that one. Hulk and Clint were dicking around while we were all cleaning up after the Chitauri, and made some stupid bet about Steve accidentally-on-purpose losing his cowl halfway through the battle. Clint lost,” Tony said, chuckling. Bruce made a disconcerted noise, looking uncomfortable.

“Was he all right?” he asked, looking at Clint’s red face. Tony’s smile dropped.

“Yeah! Bruce, yeah, he was fine. You and Clint- you're best bros, you give each other shit all the time. Hulk had already started calling Clint "Cupid" before we even made it to shawarma…” Tony studied Bruce’s concerned face for a moment, then flipped to the next photo, smiling again. This one was a candid shot of Bruce holding Steve’s shield and talking animatedly to Tony, while Steve fixed the zip on his uniform. 

“Oh, this was when we had to do that bullshit interview for Entertainment Weekly. All they wanted to ask about was our love life and whether Steve was an eligible bachelor, and it ended with Nat getting fed up and shoving her Widow’s Bite into a nest of wires under the table, taking out the power on the whole block.” Bruce laughed, scrolling again. 

The next picture was of Tony and Bruce with their arms slung around each other’s shoulders, Tony in a grey suit and Bruce in a cheerful yellow shirt. Tony was quiet a moment, as Bruce held the tablet nearer, closely scrutinizing the joy and laughter radiating from both their faces. 

“That was right after the Battle of New York, just before we started dating. You know, you- Hulk saved my life that fight, caught me from falling from space,” he murmured. “We were getting ready to come back to the tower. I didn’t want you to go on the run again, I wanted you to stay here and quit wasting your brain playing Florence Nightingale in places without running water. Your lab and R&D facility was set up, and I was hoping you’d want to try it out and stay awhile. You did.” He looked down at his hands, swallowing hard. 

“I look so happy,” Bruce whispered. 

“You were.”

Bruce looked at that photo a long time in silence before flipping to the next. This one was of Tony and Bruce in the living room, at what looked like a Halloween party. Bruce was wearing a plastic toy Iron Man mask with the faceplate lifted, and Tony was wearing a purple shirt and big, green, foam Hulk hands. They were both making ridiculous faces, eyes rolled back and tongues lolling out. In the background, Clint was wearing a cupid outfit, with a novelty headband that looked like an arrow through the head. Bruce chuckled softly, and Tony looked up at him with a small smile.

“Last Halloween. You should see a picture of Thor and Steve; they dressed as Mario and Luigi. Thor demanded that we dye his hair black, but some kind of Aesir magical fuckery kept the dye from sticking, so he looked like something pulled out of a nest of seaweed.” He laughed quietly. “You’ve dressed as Iron Man every year. I keep trying to get you to wear the actual suit, but you always say no.” Bruce chuckled again, darkly.

“Yeah, I can’t imagine why I’d be reluctant to walk around a drunken crowd in a weaponized suit of armor,” he murmured sarcastically with his usual undercurrent of deep self-hatred. Tony rolled his eyes.

“Knock it off. I know you don’t remember, but you’re not like that,” Tony said firmly. He frowned a little at Bruce before flipping to the next photo. This one was an obvious selfie taken with a camera phone of the two of them beaming and pressed cheek to cheek, wrapped in hats and scarves and with their breath hanging in the cold night air, the glittering Eiffel Tower behind them. 

“That’s, uh…” Tony paused for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to breathe deeply and regain a little of his tenuous control of the situation. Yeah. So maybe taking a stroll down memory lane with the amnesiac love of your life was a little bit of a bad idea. 

“We took a little vacation to Paris over Christmas, just you and me. We hit all the best tourist traps, and then… sorry,” he murmured, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Then we just picked a direction and drove, and ended up at this little country villa, and they grew lavender there in the summer… and I was bitching about being off the grid, and you made me tea and I sang to you…” He didn’t finish, but looked at the photo for a long time, lost inside himself with the bright hearth fire and pungent spice of tea and sweet scent of lavender. Bruce said nothing, but waited until Tony blinked rapidly and shifted before flipping to the next photo.

This one was of the two of them standing at the top of an enormous staircase with a tall golden Hindu deity far below and behind them, holding hands and kissing, Tony kicking one foot off the ground. He swallowed again against the lump in his throat, against the treasured memories that the man beside him didn’t remember.

“This was last spring. We went to the Batu Caves in Malaysia. We climbed all 272 steps, then I stubbed my toe on the last one and fell. I skinned my hands, and you kissed them…” Tony swallowed again, realizing his voice was starting to shake. “And I said I didn’t want to walk down because my toe hurt, that I’d just call the suit, so you picked me up and said you’d carry me, all the way to the moon if you had to…” The picture blurred, and Tony quickly pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to take slow breaths through his nose. “And I said I could just fly us there, then you’d be able to fit the Earth in your pocket…” His voice had become a strangled whisper. “I’m- sorry Bruce, I need to…” 

Tony quickly stood and left the room without looking at Bruce, his throat tight and eyes prickling. It wasn’t until he was in their room- no, _his_ room, that he really felt it for the first time. The grief, the despair. He had been wracked with worry up to his point, of course, and sleepless with anger and confusion. But now as he stood in his room, with little signs of Bruce everywhere- an empty mug, a stack of existential radioactive theory books, his ridiculous house slippers- the deepness of what he lost swept over him like a tsunami. He felt a crushing weight of sorrow in his chest, almost as if Bruce had died. As if what they had together died. 

Tony couldn’t stop the tears that streamed over his face, as he hunched over himself gasping ragged breaths that stuck in his throat, choking him. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Bruce. He _wasn’t_ dead, and Tony shouldn’t be allowed to feel this way; the fact that they all made it out of that mess alive meant that they were the lucky ones. He didn’t deserve to wallow like this when Bruce needed his help. So he shoved. And folded, and tightly wrapped, pulling in every loose thread of heartache and neatly internalized it, hiding it behind decades of defense mechanisms. He wasn’t going to be this way. If he was going to fix this, lying about like a sniveling mess wasn’t going to do it.

With great effort, Tony straightened, rubbing his palms on his pant legs and breathing through his nose, and strode to the bathroom to wash his face, refusing to look at his broken reflection. This wasn’t about him and his pity party, he thought as he splashed icy water on his face. This was about Bruce, and helping him get better, even if… Tony gripped the counter edge with white knuckles. Even if it meant that Bruce never regained his memories and all Tony could do was help him live a comfortable life from a distance. He shook his head, trying not to let himself be consumed again, when he heard a soft knock on the bedroom door. 

“It’s open,” he said, emerging from the bath and scrubbing his face with a towel. When he looked up, Bruce was standing there, studying him in silence.

“You don’t have to put yourself through that for me, you know,” he said with his usual soft voice. “I know this is hard for you.” Tony sighed and sat stiffly on the edge of the bed. 

“No, it’s okay. I want to do whatever I can to help you remember.” He looked up at Bruce with feigned hope. “The doctors say that being in a familiar environment might help the memories slowly start to come back… I thought maybe the pictures would help.” He looked back down at his hands when Bruce bit his lip, something he did when he was thinking or debating something internally. It wasn’t something he could really look at right now.

“I’d like to look at some more sometime, when you think you feel up to it,” he said softly. “Mind if I keep the tablet to look at later?” He hugged the tablet to his chest, then pushed his glasses up on his nose. Tony huffed a quiet laugh. 

“Yeah. Bruce, it’s your tablet. I mean, it actually belongs to you; all the photos and books and shit are things you put on there.”

Bruce nodded and quietly watched Tony stare at the floor for a few minutes, before slipping soundlessly out of the room. 

Fuck. Well, that went well.


	5. Chapter 5

Tony collapsed back on the bed after Bruce left, staring despondently at the ceiling for an indeterminate amount of time, and woke up sometime later feeling like a sack of shit. He rolled stiffly to the side, groaning when his lower back twinged from the awkward position of having slept with his legs hang off the bed all night. Day?

“Fuck… J, what’s the time?” He muttered almost incoherently as he stretched, wincing against the pins and needles in his legs and feeling a damn sight older than he actually was. 

“It is 6:23 pm, Sir. You have been asleep approximately nine hours.” Tony rubbed his eyes. 

“Perfect.” He looked up, remembering the events from earlier. “And Bruce?”

“Doctor Banner has spent the day looking at photos and reading his personal logs from his time in the tower. He requested that I inform you that he’d like to visit when you wake. Shall I invite him in?” Tony stood and lurched to the bathroom, shedding clothing along the way.

“Not yet, J,” he murmured. Leaning on the counter, he really looked at himself for the first time since this had all happened. Jesus _fuck_. Tony ran his fingers through his hair and tugged at the sagging skin under his eyes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in a month and aged twenty years. He closed his eyes against the tightness in his throat at the thought of why. 

No. If he let himself feel anything about it now, he may as well just commit himself to an institution right then, because he’d never be right again. He took three deep, steeling breaths and pushed away from the counter without looking at his reflection again, and stepped into the shower. 

He spent way too long just standing under the scalding stream; letting the water wash away the salt tracks on his face and the burn the last two years from his mind. He numbly watched the suds swirl the drain, imagining each tiny bubble as one of Bruce’s memories of him, of _them_ ; slipping away and irretrievable. This was better, he thought; the numbness. He could handle this. He mechanically brushed his teeth, manicured his goatee, and pulled on the first shirt and pair of jeans he found, but it was after his shoes were laced on, that he realized he’d just been standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing, thinking about nothing, for a good twenty minutes. It was okay though. Numb he could do.

“J, tell Bruce I’m up,” he said quietly, pushing his shoulders back and breathing deeply, before stepping into the hall. 

Bruce was seated on the couch, pressed into the far corner again, and looked up at him with a small smile when Tony walked into the living room. As if nothing had happened. It could have been two weeks ago, and Bruce would have kissed his cheek and chided him for getting his hours messed up while pressing a coffee into his hands and telling him about the report on deep-space gamma bursts that the Chacaltaya Observatory in Bolivia had just published, and how he was asked to contribute the foreword on their upcoming publication.

“Jarvis told me you were sleeping,” Bruce said. Tony nodded, attempting to return the smile. 

“I suppose you’ve probably figured out by now that I keep strange hours,” he murmured, not deviating from his path to the coffeemaker, and absently tapping a staccato rhythm on the surface of his arc reactor, which he tended to do when lost in thought. Bruce set aside the tablet he’d been studying.

“I was hoping I could ask you to-“ He broke off, furrowing his brow at Tony and getting up to walk over to him. He bent a little and touched his index finger lightly to the glowing circle in the middle of Tony’s chest. “What is this? I saw it in the pictures, but couldn’t find anything in the system about it and Jarvis said I had to ask you.”

Tony jumped and swatted Bruce’s hand away. “ _Jesus_ Bruce, give me some fucking warning!” he snapped, one hand covering the blue glow protectively. Bruce jumped back and held his hands up defensively. 

“Whoa, sorry, I was just-“ Tony cut him off with a sharp gesture, shaking his head and feeling like an asshole.

“No, it’s all right. Just took me by surprise, is all.” He pulled his hand away, revealing the glow visible through the thin t-shirt he was wearing. “It’s, ah… it’s a miniaturized arc reactor. It-“ Bruce inhaled sharply and that look of scientific wonder that made Tony’s gut clench passed across his face.

“Like the one in the articles? The one that powers the tower?” Bruce leaned forward again to look closer, hands shoved in his pockets as if to keep himself from touching. 

“Yeah, it’s my battery, I had to make it when-“ Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. This wasn’t- He couldn’t do this today; tell this story to Bruce again. He was too… brittle. “Jarvis, give Bruce the run-down on the arc reactor, no security restrictions. I need to get some coffee.” He turned away quickly, leaving Bruce in the living room, where he was already bent over his tablet looking at the photos and schematics that Jarvis was currently talking him through. 

Tony went through the motions of preparing coffee, but when he took a sip, he realized he’d poured a mug of bourbon instead. He stared at it a few moments, then shrugged. If ever there was a time when he’d be justified in having a drink, he supposed now was that time. Maybe he could get drunk enough to pass out, and he’d wake up and all this would turn out to just be a horrible nightmare. Or maybe… maybe he just wouldn’t wake up at all. 

He lifted the mug to take a sip, pulling it back in mild surprise to see that he’d already emptied it. Huh. He wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to care about what the implied at just this moment, so he filled the mug again and walked back into the living room, where Bruce was enthusiastically talking with Jarvis, gesturing at the tablet animatedly. 

“But that’s… the technology is impossible! I mean, I’d read that Stark Industries had gotten into clean energy, but this is nothing like…” He paused when he noticed Tony leaning against the door, and turned to him with a wide smile. “Tony! You’ve got to let me take a closer look at it, do you realize the implications something like this could have in the field of…” He stopped, then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah… yeah, I suppose you do.” Tony couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Yeah, no, we’ve definitely had this conversation before,” he mumbled with a small smile, taking another long pull from his mug. “I’ll give you the full arc reactor 101 crash course sometime, just… maybe not today, yeah?” He pushed away from the door jamb. “Wasn’t there something you wanted to ask me about? Jarvis was all up in my face about it when I woke up.” Bruce chuckled.

“Yeah, I’d like to take a look at my lab, was hoping you go with me. I mean, if you’re feeling up to it,” he said, eyeing the contents of the mug. Tony shrugged and knocked back the rest of the bourbon. 

“Let’s go,” he said, heading for the private elevator with Bruce close behind. 

Two hours later, every corner of Bruce’s lab closely inspected, found them standing in front of a bank of screens, swiping files of information back and forth and talking over each other in a way that, in some place that Tony had pushed to the back of his mind, reminded him of the Bruce he really knew.

“No, look- the cellular structure is different here… and here. It doesn’t fit with the parameters, Tony.” Tony opened a file and pulled up a holographic image that Bruce didn’t even blink at by now, having slipped seamlessly into the ultra-advanced technology that was an integrated part of their lives in the tower.

“But the components- here…” Tony blew up the hologram with a gesture; they stood in the center of a glowing, slowly rotating image, looking at the cell from the inside out. “See right here? It’s a deviation from the control. Argue with me all you want, but that’s not because of the Hulk molecule.” Bruce crossed his arms.

“And since when did you become an expert on cellular microbiology, Mr. Engineer of the Year?” he asked sardonically. Tony crossed his arms stubbornly right back.

“Here and there. When did you become an expert on DNA strand theory, Mr. Gamma Physicist of the Year?” Bruce arched a brow at him, but dropped his arms and huffed a short laugh. 

“Here and there, I suppose.” He collapsed the hologram and pulled up another. “What is this file? I was looking at the reports in here since some of them came up in my search for memory modification, and none of them are completed or make sense. It’s just labeled ‘magical bullshit.’” Tony smiled grimly and leaned against the worktable, scrolling through the files.

“It’s exactly what it says, Doc. An unfortunate side-effect of having a demi-god on our team who happens to be related to the god of mischief and comes from a realm that operates primarily in magic. Shit that can’t be explained with science. Yet, anyway.” He pulled another file across from a far monitor that he had been working on. “Here’s all your scans and tests from both before and after the accident, as well as all the information we could gain from all the alien species we’ve encountered since the Chitauri. I thought we could at least start with this.” 

Bruce nodded and opened the file, and was immediately lost in the work, muttering to himself and polishing his glasses intermittently. Tony sat back and watched him for awhile, the familiar comfort of a shared intellectual pursuit fading back into that suffocating numbness from earlier. 

He slipped out of the lab, leaving Bruce to his work, and leaned on the wall just past the glass doors, pressing his hand to his arc reactor and trying to catch his breath against the weight that threatened to crush his chest. He couldn’t be here right now. It was just too much like… _before_. How easily they fell into work with one another, could read each other, kept up with each other’s thoughts. He jabbed the elevator button with excessive aggression, and wrapped his arms around himself tightly, like he would split down the middle unless he held himself together.

He stepped into his living room, looking up in mild surprise to see Steve standing by the couch, waiting for him. 

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked evenly as he stalked past Steve to the bar, unable to inflect his voice in a non-hostile manner, even though he really didn’t feel anything of the sort, besides bland indifference. 

“I just wanted to see how you and Bruce were doing. Mostly you, though,” he said softly, following Tony to the bar and eyeing the large tumbler of bourbon in his hand.

“I’m- we’re fine.”

“Has he remembered anything yet?”

“No.”

Steve watched Tony drain the tumbler, and pour another, then reached across the bar and pulled it out of Tony’s hand.

“You’re not looking so hot, you know. Have you eaten anything?” Steve asked. Tony fixed him with a pointed glare and took his glass back.

“If you’ve come here so we can braid each other’s hair and cry over boys, you should probably know that’s not gonna happen,” he said with a warning tone in his voice. “We’ll get it figured out. He’s in the lab right now.”

Steve returned Tony’s glare, then took the glass from Tony a second time, and drank the contents in one gulp, and slid the bourbon bottle out of Tony’s reach with one hand.

“I think you’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting down the empty glass. Tony sputtered, then slammed his hands against the counter. 

“Goddamn it, Steve, I don’t need to be fucking _babysat!_ I think I’m perfectly justified having a drink, it’s kind of been a shitty couple of fucking days, in case you hadn’t noticed!” Tony yelled, feeling anger breaking through the numbness and redness paint his face.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Steve yelled back. “You having a hard time remembering the definition of ‘team,’ or something? We’re here to help you both through this, Tony. We’re not going to sit back and let you drink yourself away while Bruce needs you!”

Tony’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He just stood there in stunned silence, until Steve spoke again, softer this time. 

“We’re having a movie night tomorrow. He needs to be around all of us, doing familiar things. You’re coming too.” He picked up the bourbon bottle to take with him, a purely symbolic gesture, since the penthouse was overflowing with liquor anyway. “And eat a damn sandwich or something, you can’t live on bourbon if you expect to be of any use in all this.” Tony stared at him, fury boiling in his chest, until he finally narrowed his eyes.

“Fuck you. _Fuck everything_ about you,” he spat bitterly, and stalked away to his bedroom. He paced there for several minutes, until he felt like he was choking and had to get out. Bruce was everywhere he looked. He couldn’t go back to the lab, his workshop was just as bad, and now Steve was camped out in his living room like a fucking sentinel. He felt… trapped. Panicked. Finally tearing open the door, Tony practically ran to the balcony, not caring if Steve was still there, and within seconds jetted from the platform in the suit, letting it carry him away from this hellish nightmare at mach 10. 

It was nearly dawn before he returned home, leaving behind him a crater of blasted rock and shredded trees somewhere north of the Catskills, still echoing with his broken screams.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony sat on the edge of the balcony of the 96th floor in the suit, his feet dangling over the edge and helmet sitting on the concrete next to him. The sky was barely grey when he first sat, but the sun was well over the buildings by the time he heard Jarvis speaking through the suit’s internal speakers.

“Sir, your presence is requested in Doctor Banner’s lab.” Tony sighed, and squinted into the sun. He didn’t realize that it had already risen, or remember what the sunrise looked like this morning.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.” He shoved the helmet back on, then pushed himself right over the edge of the balcony, free-falling at least twenty floors before engaging the boot repulsors back up to his disassembly dock. As the pieces of armor peeled away, no longer supporting his weight, his shoulders sagged and back curved downward, until he could feel his heart pounding against the arc reactor. 

He looked up in surprise when he entered the lab, not quite remembering how he got there. Bruce and Thor were bent over a parchment scroll, murmuring intently together, both looking up and swiping at images on the monitors. 

“What’s up?” He asked, moving up behind them to see what the scroll was about. Bruce pushed it closer to Tony, attention still on the monitor in front of him. 

“Thor returned to Asgard shortly after the accident, and was able get some information about the species that we encountered. We’ve been able to create a cross ref-“ He paused, having just looked around at Tony. Bruce furrowed his brow. “Whoa, Tony… are you okay?” Thor looked up at Bruce’s words, frowning.

“Yes, my friend, you appear unwell! May we assist you?” He laid a heavy hand on Tony’s shoulder, which Tony gently pushed away in a would-be casual manner. 

“Nah, I’m fine guys. Just haven’t had my coffee yet, you know?” He hitched a smile on his face, for some reason not feeling sure if that was the appropriate thing to do in this situation. Bruce looked at him doubtfully for a moment, then returned to the scroll.

“Anyway, we’ve been able to create a series of cross-referenced genetic markers that correspond to the magical fields generated during the battle. I think we might be able to pinpoint the cause of the amnesia. Look here at this model-“ Bruce spread his hands, and the three of them stepped back to observe the hologram. Thor gestured to a part of the display, his voice still managing to ring throughout the room, even as he spoke softly.

“As the occupants of different realms travel the branches of Yggdrasil, they exist in a state of un-being, able to shift their very presence into something as elusive as light or sound. The realm that attacked Midgard has mastered the ability to retain that state for short periods, even projecting it onto their enemies in defense, pushing them into a similar state of un-being, rendering their attack useless.” Bruce nodded as Thor explained, then pointed to the model.

“This state of ‘un-being,’ as they call it, is almost like a sub-space shift, the way one would move in and out of phase; at least, as it’s been theorized would happen should we manage to attain sub-space travel. They are both corporeal and non-corporeal, existing everywhere and nowhere at once. It’s possible that with the Other Guy’s highly resistant properties, that when he was hit with this… force, or whatever it is, he was able to deflect the effects, but my consciousness was pushed out of phase, where it got stuck without a carrier body. At least, that’s my working theory for now, not that I really have much of an idea where to start with my research at this point, or why only the memories between now and the last Hulk incident were effected, but at least-“

Bruce cut himself off, his scientific enthusiasm and excited rambling trailing as he watched Tony, who stood unseeingly in the middle of the hologram, sharp blue lights reflecting dully in his eyes. When it appeared that Tony hadn’t even noticed that Bruce had stopped talking, he snapped his fingers in front of Tony’s face. Tony blinked a few times, trying to catch up with what Bruce was saying, something about phases…

“What?” Tony asked.

“Seriously, Tony. You really don’t look okay.” Bruce narrowed his eyes. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?” Tony looked at Bruce’s hand, which now rested on his shoulder. 

“Uh… I- yesterday, I think.” Jesus, he felt so slow and sluggish, like he couldn’t get his brain to work right. All he could think about was the heat of Bruce’s calloused palm spreading through his shirt to warm his skin. Without looking away from Bruce’s hand, he gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. “I’m just gonna-“ he didn’t finish, but turned and shrugged out of Bruce’s grasp and left the lab without another word, pressing his hand over the warm spot Bruce’s hand left on his shoulder, as if he had a wound there that he had to stop from bleeding out. 

He was still like that some hours later, when Clint appeared in front of his couch in the workshop, and kicked his foot casually. 

“Yo. Movies. Cap said to haul your ass up there.” Clint stood there in his ridiculous tank top and jeans, until Tony looked up at him, surprised to see him there and wondering where the hell the time had gone. And where the hell the contents of the empty bottle resting against his thigh had gone.

“Jesus, Tony, you look like ten miles of shit,” Clint breathed. He bent and slung an arm around Tony’s shoulder, hauling him off the couch. “All right, get up, Cap made chili for us, and I swear I’ll tie you down and force it down your throat if you don’t eat.” 

Tony huffed a humorless laugh, but didn’t say anything else, just sat on the stool that Clint guided him to, as if waiting for directions. Clint stood in front of him for a minute, arms crossed, before slapping him lightly on the cheek. 

“Hey, are you even in there? Usually I can’t get a word in around you, man. C’mon, talk to me.” Clint pulled up a stool and sat opposite Tony, waiting expectantly. Tony refocused on Clint, then rolled his eyes.

“Nothing to talk about, Clint. I hope Steve didn’t send you down here to be my fucking therapist or something,” Tony said flatly, without heat.

“Bullshit. You’re obviously having a crisis or something here. Not even eating, by the looks of it.” He leaned forward and sniffed. “Well, at least you’ve managed a shower at some point, you don’t entirely smell like hot trash and ass.” He waited for Tony to say something, sighing when Tony’s eyes slid out of focus again. He reached up and slapped the other cheek, causing Tony to scowl.

“Would you knock it the fuck off, asshole? I’m starting to think you’re enjoying yourself a little too much.”

“There’s the loveable dick I knew was hiding under that pale, crotchety exterior,” Clint said, smirking. Tony smirked back, then sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, man, I’m just- I feel like I’m in a fog. La-la land, or something.” 

“That’s okay, you know.” Tony peered over his hand at him with one eye, cocking a brow.

“Thanks, Dr. Phil.” 

“Tony, I’m serious here. You have every reason to implode right now, but you aren’t going to help him by walking around like a goddamned zombie. You’ve got to at least let him get to know the non-YouTube version of you, he has no idea what you’re really like anymore.” Tony didn’t reply, only rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. Clint continued. “You know, we’ve all been through something like this.” Tony looked up sharply.

“The hell you have,” he breathed heatedly, bristling. Clint crossed his arms and stared him down defiantly.

“Don’t even be that way, Tony. You know good and goddamned well that having more issues than a magazine stand is a prerequisite for joining the Avengers. If it’s not daddy problems, then it’s abuse, or addiction, or torture, or brainwashing, or losing everyone you’ve ever loved, or some other bullshit on a list as long as my leg, and you fucking know it.” Tony deflated instantly; he was right, of course. But…

“Doesn’t change the fact that I’m feeling pretty fucking alone in all this…” he mumbled. Clint pulled Tony’s hand away from his eyes.

“Well, you’re not. And if you’d come up and eat some damn chili with the rest of us, you’d realize that.”

Tony just stared at the floor for a while. He just felt so… disordered. How was he supposed to act? Like they were just roommates? He tried to think back to when he first met Bruce, how easy and casual they were together. He rubbed his hand over his face again, absently scratching his stubble.

“Clint… What if…” he almost couldn’t say it out loud, as if it would come true if he did. But the thought had been choking him from the moment they learned of Bruce’s memory loss. “What if he doesn’t get his memory back?” he whispered, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “What if… he never…” he trailed off, waving a hand vaguely. Clint put his hands on both of Tony’s shoulders. 

“What, never falls in love with you?” he asked in his usual perceptive, blunt manner, always managing to read between the lines and notice things that others usually missed. Tony was very still.

“Yeah.” 

“So he doesn’t get his memory back. You think you’ll ever have any kind of relationship with him if you’re hiding out or walking around like a robot all the time?” Clint sat back on his stool, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know, he is a genius. I think you can assume he knows how hard this is for you. It’s not exactly an easy time for him either, man. As far as he remembers, he’s a fugitive and a mindless monster who hasn’t had another human being willingly touch him in seven years, and apparently had someone in love with him once, and he doesn’t even get to remember what that was like.”

And that last part was what punched him in the gut, to be honest. That was the whole point of this, wasn’t it? That this horrible thing had happened to Bruce, not himself? And Bruce was the one who needed the help, not him. Tony wasn’t quite sure what Clint intended with his bullshit little pep talk, but it didn’t matter. Tony set his jaw and nodded. 

“Right. You’re right.” And that was it. There was nothing else to say on the subject. Tony had to get his shit together, end of story. He took a deep shuddering breath, until he felt that sharp pain from when his lungs pressed too hard into the sides of his arc reactor, and he held it, letting the burning feeling ground him. He let the air out in a whoosh, and shook his head to clear his eyes. “Okay, chili. Let’s go.” He stood, and Clint stilled him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“That doesn’t mean you can’t be upset and break shit and scream and call us up to take you out and get wasted, you know.” Tony looked down at his hands, his fingers lacing and unlacing anxiously, then shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked up at Clint and nodded once.

“Okay,” he mumbled, even though none of those were things he wanted. All he wanted was for Bruce to be better. “Okay.” 

Tony let Clint sling his arm over his shoulder as he led them in the elevator up to the penthouse, running his mouth the entire way up to the living room about arrow designs he wanted Tony to make. 

“Seriously, I think a boomerang arrow would be the fucking shit,” he said enthusiastically as they walked into the living room, with that fond glow he got in his eyes when he talked gear. “I mean, it’s not like you have to deal with running out of ammo. Imagine what it’d be like to have to trot all over like a chump picking repulsor blasts out of dead bodies so you could throw them again.” He spread his hands and raised his brows, walking backwards in front of Tony. “C’mon, man. Boomerang arrows.” He grinned and stepped over the back of the couch, getting his boots on the cushion before flopping down. Natasha reached over and slapped the back of his head.

“Can’t you sit on a piece of furniture like a normal person?” Tony stood for a few moments watching them bicker, then looked around the room. The very first person his eyes were drawn to was Bruce, and it took him a few beats to remember to breathe again. Get your shit together, he repeated to himself like a mantra, watching Bruce watch the others, hovering as inconspicuously as possible on the outer circle of their attention, smiling small smiles now and again when someone said something funny. 

Tony watched him surreptitiously pull a chair just a little further away and back from the group, like he wanted to observe, rather than participate. Watched him jump, startled, and shuffle a bit when Steve clapped him on the shoulder and pushed the chair back into the circle, guiding Bruce to sit. Watched him perch stiffly on the edge, shoulders hunched a little and eyes darting around the room, until he realized no one was really paying attention to him, and he relaxed a little. Tony averted his gaze, feeling almost like a voyeur, waiting for Bruce to act in the exact manner he expected him to. He walked into the kitchen alone, and stood in front of the stove, staring at the large pot of chili there, trying to decide if he could really do this tonight.

“Hey.” 

Tony turned his head just enough to see Steve’s concerned face.

“Hi.”

“You gonna eat?”

“I’m not really-“

“Tony, please. You need to eat.”

Tony sighed, grabbing a bowl and putting a few ladles of chili in it, and stalked past Steve, who reached out and caught his elbow.

“Hey. Don’t isolate yourself down there like that, okay? Come find one of us if you feel like it’s too much,” Steve said softly. Tony swallowed, and after a few moments, nodded. Steve released him and moved to dish himself up a large bowl. Tony started to walk into the living room, but stopped and turned instead.

“Steve,” he blurted out. Steve turned, dripping spots of chili on the counter.

“Yeah?”

Tony hesitated, slowly sliding his bowl onto the counter, eyes downcast.

“I’m- I’m not handling this so well.” 

Steve set down his bowl and walked over to Tony, putting both hands on his shoulders. He looked at him a moment, then pulled Tony into a hug.

“I know.”

Tony stiffened in surprise momentarily, then sagged into the embrace and let his forehead fall against Steve’s shoulder, his fingers twisting into Steve’s shirt. He couldn’t cry, though. He just felt hollow. Steve rubbed soothing circles into his back and said nothing, and even though it kind of made Tony feel like a child, he realized that he appreciated the gesture anyway.

“Thanks,” he murmured. 

“Anytime,” Steve said softly. Tony took a deep breath and almost smiled at the absurdly old-fashioned scent of Steve’s Old Spice cologne. 

“I can do this,” he muttered, more to convince himself than anything.

“Tony…” Steve started, but Tony pulled away, cutting him off, his jaw set defiantly.

“No. I’m-“ he shoved his hands in his pockets, his voice still a low mumble. “I’m going to fix him. I have to.” He took another deep breath and looked up at Steve. “I have to.” Steve just watched him for a few moments, before nodding.

“Just don’t forget to take care of yourself in the process,” he murmured, squeezing Tony’s shoulder again. Tony nodded and left him to his chili, returning to the others, feeling Steve’s eyes on his back as he left the kitchen. He sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room from Bruce, partly so he could look at him now and then, and partly so he could make a quick exit to his room if needed. 

Someone had already started the movie, but he didn’t really pay much attention, just ate his chili in uncharacteristic silence and listened to the others talk over each other and the movie like siblings. At one point he looked up and saw Bruce sitting back in his chair, looking at the group in a sort of bemused confusion, as if he were trying to figure out how he got tangled up in a mess like this, but was kind of glad he did. Tony huffed a silent, humorless laugh to himself, because wasn’t that just the exact conversation they’d both had a hundred times before? 

Right at that moment, Bruce looked over to him, and they locked eyes. The rush of his heartbeat in his ears immediately blocked everything else out, and he held his breath until Bruce smiled a small, tight-lipped smile at him and looked away. Yeah. Well. Despite every effort to convince himself otherwise, he was quickly starting to realize that this was just too much; too normal, too soon. Tony quietly set his empty bowl on the end table beside him, and slipped unnoticed from the room. He retreated to the balcony off his bedroom, leaning against the railing and watching the city lights twinkle far into the distance, where they were cut off by the dark line of the ocean.

“Hey.”

Tony’s first instinct was to turn and take the owner of that voice into his arms and kiss him until he was breathless, but a split-second later he remembered why he couldn’t do that anymore. He wondered how he could keep forgetting, when the reminder was constantly in front of him. Instead, he continued his listless study of the cityscape.

“Hey, Bruce. Whatcha need?” He heard a few moments of shuffling behind him, before Bruce spoke again.

“Mind if I join you?” Bruce asked quietly. Tony smiled sardonically to himself, and gestured at the railing. 

“Pull up a seat.” Bruce chuckled softly and leaned against the railing a few feet away from where Tony stood, taking a sip every now and then from a glass in his hand. 

“So I’ve been reading through my journals, my reports and things. About before.”

“Yeah?” Tony didn’t turn to look at Bruce, but saw him rub the back of his neck out of the corner of his eye.

“I just… thank you.” Bruce turned to lean a hip against the railing and face Tony, but looked down at his drink. “I’ve never had anyone be so kind to me, never been in a place in my life where I’ve felt safe. Never had anyone think of the other guy… myself… as something other than a monster. I, uh…” he pushed his glasses up his nose. “I know I can’t remember-“

“You will, it’s just temporary, we’ll fix it,” Tony interrupted in a low, but fierce voice, turning his head to watch Bruce, who paused, but continued on.

“-But I wrote about it a lot, apparently. I… I’m a little overwhelmed at everything you’ve done for me, and…” he looked up at Tony. “I just wanted to say whether I remember it or not, I appreciate it. Thank you.” He looked back down at his drink, and Tony turned to face him, leaning his hip against the rail as well, fighting the urge to wrap Bruce in his arms and shield him from every hurt the world had to offer, to tell Bruce he loved him more than anyone or anything in his life combined. He crossed his arms tightly over himself instead.

“You’re welcome,” he said quietly. Bruce nodded and turned back to face the city. After a few moments, Tony did the same, and they watched the lights of the city for a while in silence until Tony cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry I’ve been so…” he waved a hand in front of him vaguely, unable to articulate all the things he was sorry for. 

“It’s okay. I understand,” Bruce said softly. Tony sighed.

“Thanks.”

They looked at the skyline in companionable silence for a long time, watching the planes take off and land in the far distance. After a while, Bruce slipped away unnoticed by Tony, and he remained lost in his thoughts and memories until the sky started to turn pink. Once again, he wondered where the time had gone, as he trudged heavily back inside and collapsed on the bed, still unable to find sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony only laid in bed for a couple of hours before he decided the effort to sleep was useless, and he’d be better off trying to accomplish something in the lab. He sat on the edge of the bed and raked his fingers through his hair, rubbing his bloodshot eyes, before trudging to the kitchen to drink as many pots of coffee as he could manage. He would work today. Be normal. It would be okay, Bruce understood, they would work together just like they always had, and it would be okay. They’d fix him. All he needed was some coffee, and some time to just… _think_. It’ll be okay, he kept repeating to himself as he rode the elevator down and entered the deserted lab. It’ll be okay.

Bruce’s papers were still spread across his worktable, with a pile of open scrolls next to them. There was an enormous stack with complex notes and diagrams written on them in another language, Thor’s records about the information contained in the scrolls. Tony picked up a sheet and stared at it absently for a while, just looking at the beauty of his language. Despite Thor’s size, powers, jubilance, and archaic manner of speech, it was easy for them all to forget that he was in fact an alien from an advanced race of magical beings, and that his brilliance was widely regarded on his world.

He let his eyes follow the flowing, liquid lines of Thor’s writing for a while, before he set the paper back down and fired up the screens. 

“Jarvis, has Thor been feeding you translations of his work?”

“Indeed he has, Sir. Shall I display his work thus far?”

“Yeah. And get me a workup of all the energy scans you were able to gather during the battle. Display on monitors three and four. And I’m assuming Bruce has already done blood work scans? Get those up there, too. Let’s see if we can knock this bastard out…”

“Of course, Sir. Knocking out bastards now.” 

Tony smirked to himself, then set to work, his eyes flying fast and clear over the information, despite his profound exhaustion. He would force his brain to cooperate, or he’d die trying. He absorbed himself in page after page of Asgardian historical documentation, nearly every sentence footnoted by Thor with various historical accounts, personal encounters, socio-political commentary, military and weapons stratagems, and references to a dauntingly enormous document he had written up, detailing some of the finer points of magical theory, and the energy meridians they flowed upon throughout the galaxy. 

Admittedly, Tony had been staring, dumbfounded, at that document for a very long time before he heard the sound of soft laughter and a booming voice behind him. He looked around to see Bruce and Thor heading to their workstations, each of them with an enormous plate of pastries. Tony bit his lip for a moment, remembering how, for months after moving in, Bruce ate every meal as if it might be his last. How he would have third or fourth helpings of everything, and sneak extras to hide in his room for later, if he thought he could do so without being noticed. The habit wasn’t helped by the fact that he had to eat an incredible amount of food to sustain the Hulk, yet still always looked like he was just a meal or two away from starving to death. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time, Tony wondered how he survived when he was on the run, constantly hungry, constantly hunted.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, just as Bruce looked up at him and smiled. But his smile faded a little as he came to Tony’s side and looked at him. Tony was suddenly acutely aware that he hadn’t showered, hadn’t eaten anything but liquor and a bowl of chili, and hadn’t changed clothes in at least three days. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling embarrassed. 

“Hey there, Green Bean,” he murmured with a small smile, unable to stop the endearment before it fell out of his mouth. “Thought I’d try to make myself useful around here, yeah?” He spread his hands casually. Bruce crossed his arms, but nodded.

“Sure, as long as you think you’re up to it,” he said softly, eyes roving over the bags under Tony’s eyes, his wild hair, and unshaven cheeks. He pursed his lips, but thankfully didn’t say anything, gesturing at the screen instead. “I see you’ve got Thor’s work pulled up. Since he got here, he’s been working on trying to correlate the existing magical meridians in these charts-“ he pointed to the screen- “with known patterns of atomic radiation and alpha/beta particles in our galaxy. He seems to think that-“ Tony cut him off with a sharp gesture and turned to Thor, who was currently filling his mouth with two pastries at once.

“Wait, you’ve only written all this since you’ve been here? This isn’t documentation you brought with you?” The amount of information here was staggering. Thor only chuckled good-naturedly, speaking around the food in his mouth and dropping a few crumbs into his golden beard. 

“Come now, Tony; I did not attain my standing in the field of battle, nor conquer the power of thunder, by being a dullard, my friend.” He casually brushed the crumbs from his beard and plain grey t-shirt, and reached for another two pastries. He walked over to look at the displays with Tony and Bruce, clapping Tony on the shoulder and laughing. “Do not forget that I learned to speak your language in but a few days; I hardly find scratching a few notes to be a cunning beyond my abilities!” He winked, and reached across Tony to retrieve a scroll and his stack of notes. Tony just shook his head, turning back to the screen. Bruce leaned over him, reaching up to scroll the screen down to another diagram. 

“Thor seems to think that what we perceive as radioactive fields between stars and galaxies, are indicators of the magical meridians, or highways I suppose, that some species travel along.” Tony nodded along, picking up on it immediately.

“So the radiation isn’t necessarily an arbitrary presence or planetary emission, but more like exhaust fumes from sub-space or inter-dimensional travel.”

“Right. However, it’s also possible that the meridians follow those paths because the radiation makes travel more hospitable-“

“So what we need to do is figure out a way to isolate the particular path that this species used-“

“Then we can determine their exact path to our planet-“

“And it might be possible that your consciousness and memories might be trapped in a state of sub-space flux along that meridian-“

“And that we could use the specific ionic signature along with the trace elements of magic that Thor is breaking down, to create something that can act almost as a nuclear sub-space magnet, and might be able to bump my consciousness back into my body.”

“Hot damn, I think we have a plan.”

They were facing each other now with wide smiles, the light of scientific discovery dancing in both their eyes, faces inches from each other as they threw ideas rapid-fire to each other. Tony was a split-second away from leaning in to kiss Bruce out of sheer relief that they at least had a place to start, when he realized very acutely that however much this felt like _before_ , the person in front of him was no longer his Bruce. The heat from Bruce’s arm near his own, and the smell of his woodsy soap were quite suddenly very oppressive, and he leaned back in his chair, trying to escape it. 

“I- I’ll start working on a mock-up of a large-scale multichannel analyzer, see if I can engineer an ion-specific reactor that can isolate the meridians. See if you can start getting an idea of distance, how far deep-space it will need to carry,” Tony said, turning his chair and brushing Bruce’s leg with his knee, and he could swear both of them froze for an instant when he did so. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll do that,” Bruce murmured, heading back to his workstation. Tony studied his screens once more, pausing, but not looking up, when after a few minutes Bruce walked over and quietly slid his plate of pastries on the table beside Tony’s elbow, then walked away.

And so they worked; it could have been days, maybe weeks. At increasingly lengthy intervals, Tony managed to shower and pass out for a few hours, and if someone thought to leave a plate of food on his worktable, he’d eat a little, but the reality was that he completely threw himself into the work. Studying Thor’s notes meticulously, bending for hours over his drafting table working on blueprints on both paper and hologram for the machines they’d need to fix Bruce. He did his best to pretend that this was just like before, when they let themselves become consumed by their projects, working together like cogs in a wheel. 

And sometimes he really did forget, and he clung to those blissful, warm, happy little moments like a lifeline, savoring each one to get him through the darkness until the next, clinging to that hope that this was just a temporary nightmare, and Bruce would be all better soon. One of those times, Tony sat on his stool near Bruce, spinning the seat in circles and feeling a little manic as they waited for the fabricator to complete a few test pieces, having not had reasonable amounts of sleep in at least a couple days.

“Okay, so Steve was absolutely convinced that I needed to learn military-style, hand-to-hand-combat, right? Like I’m ever not in the air or don’t have the repulsors. So we’re sparring, and I’m a runt compared to him, let’s be real here- thanks-“ he said as Thor pressed a carton of takeout into his hands, and another into Bruce’s. Thor shoved some papers aside on the worktable and sat on the surface, booming with laughter.

“Aye! Steve was indeed a force of power, on the off occasion that he was able to catch Tony!” he said, while Tony waved his chopsticks and interrupted around a mouthful of noodles.

“Wait, it gets better! God, he smashed my ass right through the mat both times he was able to catch me, but then I started to pick up on his moves, and was too fast for him. Between his legs, around his back, close enough to trip him but then too far to reach-“ he said, laughing, jabbing the air with his chopsticks for each move.

“It was as if he’d been transfigured into a nimble cat-“

“And then I climbed him like a tree, and pulled his shirt over his head so he couldn’t see-“

“And the mighty Captain fell to the mat in anguish!” Thor roared gleefully. Bruce was holding his sides, trying to catch his breath from laughing.

“Are you kidding me? And you weren’t charged with treason on American soil?” Bruce asked, wheezing. Tony leaned back on his stool. 

“Nope. Although you should have seen your face when he asked you to spar.” Bruce’s smile fell and he blanched at Tony’s words.

“He did what, now?” Tony smirked, pointing his chopsticks at Bruce. 

“Ha! That’s it, that’s the face right there! Shit, I set it up perfectly too, why the fuck didn’t I have a camera on me this time?” he laughed. Bruce smirked back, and lifted a foot to shove at Tony’s knee, sending his chair spinning again.

“God, you’re a dick,” he muttered with a small smile. Tony just grinned at him over his shoulder as his chair continued to spin. 

“The one and only, it’s internationally famous for a reason,” he said.

“More like infamous, from what Google tells me,” Bruce said, eating his noodles.

Their banter continued as they worked; Tony, Thor, and the rest of the team (when they came up to visit or bring food), regaled Bruce with stories and pictures, or just ordinary conversation, then drug them up for the occasional movie night. And Tony held himself together through it all, putting on what he thought was a convincing show of coping well. The others always managed to find him alone, however.

“Hey Tony, you’ve been cooped up in the lab for a while, want to go for a jog with me or something?” Steve asked him one day when they happened to meet in the elevator. Tony rolled his eyes at the poorly veiled attempt to check up on him.

“I’m fine, Steve. Just trying to make some headway, you know.”

“Okay, but if you need-“ Tony turned to Steve and cut him off.

“Steve. I’m fine. Really.” All lies. Steve nodded, and Tony was certain for a minute that Steve knew he was full of shit, but then he was squeezing Tony’s shoulder reassuringly and getting off the elevator on his own floor. 

Another time, he was on all fours in a cabinet under the counter, rooting through his stock for another bottle of scotch, as all the ones at the bar seemed to have disappeared.

“Whatcha looking for there?” said Clint, leaning on the counter beside Tony’s feet. Tony sighed, looking to avert this line of questioning before it even got started.

“Just re-stocking the bar. You ever write down those arrowhead ideas you wanted me to work on?”

“Seems you’ve been re-stocking the bar at a pretty fair clip these days,” Clint said, ignoring Tony’s weak try at a subject change. Tony backed out of the cabinet, two sealed bottles in hand, and glared at Clint.

“And?”

“And it’s just an observation. That I’ve noticed. And so have the others.” Clint looked at his nails. “In case you were wondering if people noticed things.” Tony stood and cracked open a bottle, pouring a measure for both of them.

“I really couldn’t give any fewer shits than I currently do about what people do and do not notice,” he said, throwing back the contents of his tumbler.

Clint did the same, then reached across and hooked a finger in the rim of Tony’s empty glass and pulled it away. 

“You wanna go look at these arrow designs with me?” Clint asked. Tony sighed and eyed his glass that was out of reach, then raked his fingers through his hair.

“I have work to do in the lab, Clint. Later, okay?” 

“You’re blowing me off.”

“Very astute. Half a brown star for you.”

“You give me those bottles, I’ll leave you alone. Otherwise, I’m in your hair for the rest of the afternoon.”

“Goddammit, Clint…” Tony muttered, staring Clint down, who crossed his arms and remained utterly unflappable. Tony sighed again, and pushed the bottles across the counter. Clint tucked one under each arm. 

“I’m watching you,” he said, walking towards the elevator and pointing with two fingers first at his own eyes, then Tony’s.

“Yeah, that’s not creepy at all, asshole,” Tony called after him, almost able to work up enough energy to care. Instead, he waited until Clint was gone, then dropped back down to his knees, digging in the cabinet until he found two more bottles.

The times when it was hardest to keep it together though, were days when they didn’t work in the lab, or wrapped up early, and the rest of the team was busy. Bruce had become comfortable around Tony, and often suggested that they watch TV or a movie in the evenings. It was a decision that tore at Tony; being with Bruce outside of the lab was a constant and painfully harsh reminder that they weren’t _them_ anymore. 

However, Tony suspected that Bruce felt just as lonely as he did, and he found that the evenings they spent together were tinted with both warmth and sadness. Sometimes Tony could even forget that they weren’t _them_ , as they joked and flirted and argued throughout the evening, just like they used to do. Tony let himself get carried away on that feeling, doing his level best to ignore the creeping, icy feeling of dread in his gut, that voice that tried to tell him that every time he let himself pretend, he was getting himself just a little closer to breaking down entirely, one step closer to the precipice, giving his damaged psyche one more thing for his nightmares to twist into some new, hellish torture.

Sometimes Bruce fell asleep, and Tony turned the volume down on the TV and just sat and watched him for hours, his fingers twitching, wanting to lace their fingers together gently, kiss him awake and curl around him in the bed, just like they used to do. Tony watched him sleep, feeling a pang that Bruce was finally feeling safe enough again to do so outside his room. He bit his lip at how Bruce’s head fell back on the couch cushion and how he let his hands sit loose and relaxed in his lap, mouth hanging open a little and sock feet on the coffee table. 

Tony closed his eyes and listened to the soft sounds Bruce made as he slept, and then as slowly as possible, he moved himself incrementally closer, until just their elbows or knees were touching. He anchored himself on that small bit of warmth, let his head fall back, took a shaky breath, and did everything in his power to forget this had ever happened. They were just Bruce and Tony again, asleep on the couch after a long day of making science and watching movies.


	8. Chapter 8

Sometimes when something really bad happens, it just kicks the life out of a person all in one harrowing blow. But sometimes it slowly and painfully wrings the life out instead, one little look, one tiny word or gesture, one misplaced hope at a time, so insidiously that the person doesn’t even realize what’s happening to them until there’s almost nothing left of them to save. 

That’s how it felt for Tony, the longer he went on pretending everything was fine; the emptiness inside became like poison, harshly yanking him back to reality again and again, reminding him that none of them were fine, or ever would be again. And each time it happened, it took him a little longer to recover his façade of normalcy, to put the mask back into place that seemed to slip so easily these days, as if the poison were slowly spreading through his blood, suffocating his body one heartbeat at a time. He felt like he were a starving person, and Bruce’s little smiles or familiar presence was like someone putting a hot meal just out of his reach; giving him just a whiff of something sweet enough to keep his hopes up, but still leaving him dying of hunger.

It was as if he could feel a threat on the horizon; like when they were on the battlefield and were waiting on the second wave of the enemy army. They knew it was coming, and they would be lucky to make it out alive, and all they could do was wait and hope something good happened between now and when the storm hit, and that it would end quickly, however it ended.

It just drug him down so much; every single day he saw Bruce working in the lab, hunched over his tea in the kitchen, lounging on the couch with a science journal, and each time it was like ripping the scab off an infected wound. He kept up with the banter, he still worked his brain past the point of exhaustion in the lab, he still went through all the motions of normalcy around the tower, but it took an almost physical effort to do so sometimes. 

He could keep pretending, keep pushing it all down inside him and walk with a swagger and a smirk, but when the other two were working and he hunched over his drafting table staring at his neat draftsman’s script on his blueprints, the icy numbness started to creep back in on him. The worst was when Bruce and Thor packed up for the nights. At some point, Tony had gotten into a habit of leaving the lab last, alone, so he could skulk back to his room and avoid the gnawing ache inside him whenever he was near Bruce.

Those were the times when the little voice in the back of his mind screamed at him to get help, that he was killing himself by slow torture. He waited until late evening before stumbling back to his room, realizing somewhere in his thoughts that it had to be obvious that he wasn’t hanging out with Bruce in the evenings anymore, and that someone would start to wonder why. 

Sometimes he showered, sometimes he got a thankful few hours of restless sleep plagued with nightmares, sometimes he drank until he couldn’t remember his name, but he always woke before the sun and was the first in the lab, whether it was to force his brain into working through his denial, or to stare listlessly at the blueprints until the others woke him from his reverie to check a calculation or review a scan.

There eventually came a time when he realized he was finding his way back to the lab or down to his workshop earlier and earlier, until he began heading back there just after midnight each night. The logical, rational part of his brain told him this was unhealthy, that he’d end up having a breakdown if he kept on this way, but he suppressed and internalized that thought along with everything else he felt, and poured himself another drink. 

That was how he found himself one morning around two, swaying unsteadily on the stool in front of his drafting table, staring at the empty bottle and tumbler in front of him with glazed, dead eyes.

“You’re losing weight.” Tony gasped and spun around at the soft voice behind him, knocking his glass to the floor and nearly falling from his seat.

“ _Jesus!_ Nat, are you even fucking human?” He hissed, clutching his arc reactor and trying to catch his breath. “How do you sneak up on people like that, are you a goddamned ghost or something? What the hell do you want?” He glared at Natasha, who stood in front of him barefoot, wearing pajama pants and a tank top, arms crossed and expression stern.

“I said, you’re losing weight,” she said in the same even tone. Tony rubbed his chest, then turned away to reach for his glass, swearing under his breath when he saw it on shards on the ground. 

“So?” He hunched back over his table, feeling defensive.

“So you’re losing weight, you’re not sleeping, you’re not eating, you’re drinking at all hours, you hardly talk, you’re isolating yourself, and your friends are worried that you’re going to have a break from reality if you don’t face this problem,” she said bluntly. Tony didn’t turn, but felt a ripple of tension roll down his spine. 

“There’s not a problem Nat, I’m fine,” he gritted out.

“Have you been to SHIELD medical? Seen a psych?” Tony turned abruptly to face her, feeling his face redden.

“No! And I don’t plan to, so don’t fucking bring it up again!” He replied heatedly. Natasha just arched a brow. 

“Well I’m not going to hold your hand. But don’t think you’re fooling any of us, Tony,” she said a little more softly. “He needs you to be well. We all do.” Tony wrapped his arms tightly around himself and turned away again.

“Yeah?” he mumbled. “Maybe I need him to be well more than me.” Natasha stepped forward soundlessly and put her hand on Tony’s shoulder.

“Tony… you have to start considering that he might not recover. Think about how you’re going to move forward and…” Tony immediately bristled, jerking his shoulder away from her touch.

“He’s going to be fine. Got it? I’m going to fix this- fix him. It’ll be like it never happened, and we’ll all-“ Natasha gripped Tony’s chin in her hand firmly and turned his face towards hers, shutting him up.

“And the more you keep telling yourself that, the harder it’ll be for you if it turns out he doesn’t recover,” she said more firmly. Tony just stared at her, unable to voice the rage and betrayal he felt at her words. He finally twisted his chin away and stood.

“Fine. Then I guess you can shout ‘I told you so’ the loudest when I finally crash and burn, and we can all have a good laugh over what an idiot Tony Stark was,” he said, voice brittle. He didn’t wait for a response, but stalked out of the lab and down to his workshop, where he paced and hated himself more and more deeply with each step. By the time the sun’s rays finally shone through the high windows clear and bright, he was so overcome with hopelessness that he actually found himself desperately praying to a god he didn’t believe in.

Because he’d do anything at this point. Because it had to be punishment; the caves in Afghanistan weren’t enough to atone for his years as a weapons dealer. For the blood of innocent people that stained his hands. For the life of depravity he lead. For having not been quick enough in the field to detect the alien weapon that had hurt Bruce, for not using his goddamned brain to protect the people he loved, letting them be hurt because of his stupidity. He had his small slice of happiness, and now it was over. But he’d sign away his rights to SI, he’d never put on the Iron Man suit again, he’d give up everything for himself, even his own life, if it meant that he could have just one more day with Bruce the way it used to be.

He begged to the silent air, ashamed, curled on his knees with his arms wrapped around himself, his forehead pressed into the floor, and his lungs gasping for air. He bargained, sincerely offering everything he had to fix this. Making promises that weren’t in his power to keep. And when nothing answered him, he wasn’t surprised. He knew he didn’t deserve that sort of grace. He never would. So he unclasped his hands and rubbed his palms on his thighs, swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth, and went back to the lab. If he was going to fix Bruce, it was going to have to be him that did it.

So that’s what he did, and the bags under his eyes got deeper, and the delicate ridge of his collarbone became more and more pronounced, and his teammates hovered more conspicuously, pursing their lips when the food set by his elbow went uneaten. 

But for all he and Bruce’s initial hopes, those too began to fade. Despite their intense efforts, they were continually thwarted by the elusive nature of the magic they sought to harness. And as they were turned back by dead end after dead end, the atmosphere in the lab became heavier and darker, each of them snappish and short-tempered, the tension between them almost palpable. 

“I am deeply sorry, my friends,” murmured Thor one day as he pushed back from his work space and scrubbed his hand over his tired face. “I have interpreted the scrolls in every imaginable manner, and I have yet been unable to divine the secrets which elude us.” Bruce sighed and hunched deeper in on himself, but didn’t turn.

“It’s all right, Thor, we’ll just have to get a little deeper into theoretical physics…” he trailed off, a hopeless note to his voice. 

“Thought you were supposed to understand all this shit, that’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” Tony muttered sourly under his breath, still working on his model and not looking at Thor, overcome by a sudden flash of irritation. There was a moment of silence before he heard an obviously exasperated sigh.

“Tony, it is not often that I am afforded leave to Midgard for such a lengthy period, and I have chosen to spend it with you to help in any way I can, you know that. I have not even had opportunity to commune with my Lady Jane, and-“ his words were cut off when Tony inhaled sharply and his head snapped up. He fixed Thor with an icy glare.

“Oh, gosh. I can’t even imagine how _difficult_ it must be for you to be cut off from someone you love. What _must_ that be like?” He bit out venomously. Bruce’s back still faced him, and from his angle, Tony could see Bruce’s spine go rigid and his hands freeze over his holographic model. Thor raised his hands defensively.

“It is not my intent to belittle your suffering, my friend. I only mean to point out that her expertise in the ways of travel among the stars could prove a worthy contribution to our research. She is as much an expert in translating the ways of magic into words of science, as you are creating thinking machines out of mere scratches on paper. These creatures have created a weapon from the magic that brought them here, and-“ 

Tony slammed down the tablet he was holding, and spun on Thor. 

“Yeah, and if you and your dad would keep a fucking leash on all the magical bullshit running up and down your Yagger-sil or whatever the fuck you call it, none of this would have happened in the first place!” he shouted, growing red in the face. Thor set his papers down gently, but seemed to grow taller and more imposing, booming voice firm and laced with a vein of anger and threat.

“Tony, it is neither I, nor the people of Asgard, at which you should be angry. We have no more control over the actions of the other realms, than we do of yours.” Tony stepped up to Thor, refusing to be intimidated by his thunderous expression.

“Well, what else am I supposed to do? We’re up to our dicks in magic here, and the only person this side of the galaxy who knows anything about it, has his royal fucking head up his ass!” Tony shouted. Thor drew his brows together, his voice thunderously loud and obviously angry.

“Do not think to place the blame for this upon my shoulders, I will not carry it! Are you not a paragon of intellect on this world? I suggest you endeavor to live up to the repute set before you, and solve the problem with your _science_ , and cease the passing of blame!” Tony’s eyes widened briefly, then narrowed furiously. 

“You son of a fucking bitch! How _dare_ you?! I’ve been up here pretending I’m not dying inside, trying to make sense of the mess that _your_ goddamned neighbors dropped in our laps, and all you can do is talk about how you haven’t had a chance to fuck Jane yet and… just fuck you! _FUCK YOU!_ ” Tony screamed, and shoved Thor with all his might, which was about as effective as shoving a concrete wall. Thor bellowed with rage, gripping Tony’s shirt as if to pick him up by it.

“Dare not _ever_ speak of Jane in this manner again, or I shall dismember you myself!” He shouted. “You want me to leave? I shall do so, and forsake Midgard forever, should you-“ 

“ _Would you two knock it the fuck off?!_ ” Bruce slammed his hands on the table, and his voice, low and intense, cut through their shouting. He was bent over his worktable, gripping the edges with white knuckles, not looking at either of them. “You’re not the only ones on edge around here, you know. If you’re going to fight, then get the hell out of my lab so I can work!” Tony flared at that.

“Get the hell- I’m trying to _help_ you, Bruce! Excuse me for wanting to fix you!”

Bruce rounded on Tony, clenching his fists, eyes blazing green.

“Has it occurred to you that maybe, after all this time to think, and all this research we’ve done, that I might not _want_ to be _fixed?_ Maybe it’s just starting to seem like you want me fixed more for yourself than for me!” Bruce yelled. Tony ripped his shirt from Thor’s grip and shoved past him, bristling.

“How could you even think something that stupid? You’re missing a two-year chunk of your life, and you’re just gonna be ok with that?” he yelled, jabbing a finger at Bruce’s chest, almost losing himself at just how… how unbelievably _furious_ he was. How unfair, how horrible the situation was, and how at this moment, it just seemed like there was nothing he could do but watch it crumble to dust. 

“Fine, Bruce! Just… just keep on living like those years never happened, so you can skulk around the tower like Ross is still on your ass, and stand in the corner because you never learned how to have friends, and go on moping that no one ever fucking loved you!” he shouted. Bruce’s face was livid.

“Jesus, Tony! You’re such a _fucking asshole!_ How the hell did you ever trick me into falling in love with you?!” he shouted back.

It took Tony several seconds to process what Bruce had just said, and when he did, he wilted as if everything inside him had just collapsed, the air coming out of his lungs in a whoosh, as if he’d just been kicked in the gut. The silence in the lab was thick and oppressive. So that was how Bruce wanted it. Having nothing to do with him. Tony’s jaw worked as he fought to keep his face expressionless. 

Bruce almost immediately deflated, the green fading from his eyes. He unclenched his fists and reached out a hand to Tony.

“Oh my God, Tony- I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean that…” he murmured. 

Tony took a quick step back to avoid his touch, eyes glued to Bruce’s. He opened his mouth to speak, but his words were gone. They just looked at each other; Bruce’s face contrite and heavy with guilt, Tony’s a heartbreaking mixture of betrayal and self-hatred. He flinched when he felt Thor’s heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Our tempers have been high, we have all uttered words we regret; perhaps if we-“ Tony spun out of Thor’s grip, looking at them both incredulously. He had to get out of here. He had to- he had to get away from Bruce. Tony backed away from them until his back bumped against the door, then wrenched it open and ran out before the sounds of Bruce voice calling for him to wait could reach him. 

Tony paced circles in the elevator all the way up, lacing and unlacing his fingers together helplessly. Had he tricked Bruce into falling for him? Manipulated him? He bit his lip hard when he thought about that. Bribing him with a lab and R&D facility. Getting the board to consider him for SI so he’d have a job and a salary to stay for. Getting Ross off his back so he didn’t feel like he had to run. So… what? Bruce felt like he owed Tony something? Slept with him to square the deal? Tony felt like he was losing his mind. Every memory he was so sure of _before,_ now felt nebulous and hazy, and he found himself second-guessing the motives behind every thing he and Bruce did. It was like their entire relationship was a sham, a house of cards built on sand, based on Tony’s ability to get things for Bruce and Bruce’s need to repay that debt. 

Tony found himself in his bedroom, walking circles, trying to catch his breath that was coming in gasps. He leaned over his dresser, trying to calm himself, thinking of… everything. How he didn’t even know how to walk around his own tower normally, how he was ruining everything, how he should have prevented this somehow, that it wasn’t Thor’s fault, but his. He looked up into the mirror that hung over the drawers, and looked at his hollow, empty face, like the ghost of he and Bruce’s life together looking back at him. It was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. 

Tony snarled a guttural, shattered, desperate sound, and in a violent motion, swept everything off the surface of the dresser, then heaved his weight against it and knocked the entire dresser over with an enormous crash. He picked up a heavy steel sculpture and threw it with all his might at the wall, breaking a hole through the drywall and knocking over a lamp, then picked up a small side chair and rushed the window, splintering it against the glass with a crazed scream. Panting, he finally turned back to the mirror, filled with hysterical wrath.

“I hate you! _I HATE YOU!_ ” He screamed so desperately that something in his throat snapped and his voice broke, then he drew his arm back with every ounce of strength he had, and punched his reflection straight through the glass.

He gasped at the sudden, startling pain, pulling his hand back, which was now studded with glass shards and running with blood. A lot of blood. Too much blood. Biting back a cry, Tony squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his other hand over the glass shards, pushing them in deeper and centering himself on the searing pain. It was physical. It was tangible. Something he could focus on and overcome, not this torturous, hateful, rotting that was happening inside him.

Taking a deep, shaking breath, he stumbled to sit stiffly on the edge of Bruce’s side of the bed, trailing blood and crunching glass under his shoes. He picked up a photo of the two of them that Bruce had framed, breathing hard through his nose and swallowing repeatedly against the terrible tightening in his throat, feeling like his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest. 

He gently touched his fingertip to Bruce’s face, tracing the outline tenderly and leaving a red smear of blood over it. So this was it. Whatever hopes he had for making Bruce better, however much he denied that this was permanent, didn’t matter. They would never have that life again. Ever. And what they had before was a lie. Anything they ever had together was dead. Never existed. To believe otherwise would just be a deluded fantasy on his part.

Tony let the photo fall from his hands. It fell to the mattress and slid off, hitting the stone floor and shattering the glass. He ignored it and reached for Bruce’s pillow, hugging it to his chest and burying his face in the softness, deeply inhaling the faint wisps of Bruce’s spicy, woodsy scent that still clung to it after all this time. And for the first time since the battle, when the suffocating waves of sorrow, of exhaustion, and anguish threatened to wash over him, he let himself completely succumb to the breathtaking desolation, didn’t hold himself back, didn’t internalize his emotions. He finally let himself _feel,_ let himself mourn, even though he felt like it was literally killing him, cutting his heart more deeply than any amount of shrapnel ever could. Tony clutched Bruce’s pillow to him, smearing it with his blood, and wept bitterly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has stuck with me thus far, joining Tony on his harrowing journey. This chapter was very difficult for me to write for a variety of reasons, one of which is that I've been in Tony's position, loving and caring for and trying desperately to fix someone who no longer remembered me. The title comes from words spoken to my step-mom when she began to panic, realizing that she was forgetting my dad's face, and he promised her that he would remember enough for the both of them. 
> 
> The visceral reactions that Tony has experienced with his grief are very real, and I have lived them all; I hope I can continue to convincingly convey that paralyzing sorrow and raw anger, as well as his path to healing, as Tony and Bruce's story unfolds. I have to admit, I'm sitting here nervous about posting, sharing this part of myself, but I wanted to do it. Thanks for reading, and letting me share with you all.


	9. Chapter 9

“Sir, please respond.”

“Leave me alone, J.”

“Very well, Sir.”

 

_______________________________

 

“Sir, please respond.”

“Go ‘way.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

 

_______________________________

 

“Sir, please respond.”

“Mmph…”

“Sir?”

 

_______________________________

 

“Sir, please respond.”

 

_______________________________

 

“Sir, if you are unable to respond, I will be forced to engage emergency override protocols.”

 

_______________________________

 

The pounding on the door echoed inside his head and made him want to vomit. He just wanted it to shut the fuck up…. what… they must want something, right? Too goddamn loud… like one of those itches you can’t seem to find. He did yell at them to shut up, didn’t he? Maybe he didn’t…

 

_______________________________

 

“Emergency override protocol Stark-Alpha-211 in effect. You may enter, Doctor Banner.”

“Jesus, Jarvis! How many more days were you planning to make us wait?” 

“My apologies, Doctor Banner. My override programming is rather-“

“ _Tony!_ ”

The sharp voice, the whisper of rustling of fabric, and Bruce’s woodsy, spicy scent cut through the haze in his head, and he felt like he should try to hide… something. He couldn’t quite remember what. Like his thoughts were underwater. He gasped faintly as fiery pain shot throughout his entire body, radiating from his injured hand, as he tried to recoil from Bruce’s voice. It was just enough pain to help him open his eyes. 

Oh. 

_Shit_. 

Tony’s eyes slid in and out of focus, the spinning room leaving him queasy and clutching at the sheets. His muscles were locked and rigid from being curled in a tight ball on Bruce’s side of the bed, entire body shivering violently, arm stuck out to the side. The horrible churning in his stomach and a few glints of light on his hand told him it was still studded with glass shards, and the red on the sheets was so bright… God, there was blood everywhere. Dresser overturned, holes in the wall, window cracked, glass all over… Tony’s eyes slid shut again and he felt himself drift. Okay, this looked really bad. 

“Oh… oh no… Tony, what did you do…” he heard Bruce mutter in a frantic undertone. “Steve? _Steve!_ Jarvis, get him up here, tell him to bring first aid!” Tony tried to raise his good hand to push him away, to protest, but his aim went wide and his arm flopped limply back to the bed.

“No… Leave me alone…” he breathed through his chattering teeth, cracking his eyes open again. Bruce was a dark blur in front of him, unclear through the sticky glue that crusted his eyes. He felt cool, strong hands on him, rolling him to his back and touching his face gently. 

“Tony… oh god, you’re burning up…” White-hot pain exploded in Tony’s mind when Bruce gently picked up his injured arm, enough to make him jerk away and cry out in a wounded voice.

“Stop! I’m… fine, I’m… just not you… please…” Tony’s voice dissolved into a pleading whisper, and he tried desperately to sit up in bed, failing to do more than cringe dizzily away from Bruce as the room spun. Okay, this was… not good. Everything in his head was an indistinct, chaotic mess, except two thoughts that pierced the veil like knives; maybe he ought to be panicking, and he couldn’t bear to have Bruce near him. Bruce pressed Tony back into the pillow muttering curses under his breath, then whipped around when Steve rushed into the room.

“Doesn’t this goddamned place have an infirmary or something?” Bruce hissed as Steve knelt on the bed on Tony’s other side. 

“Yeah,” Steve murmured, turning Tony’s face towards him. Tony tried to pull his chin away, but was unable to do more than look up at him with fever-bright eyes. Steve looked at least ten years older, eyes tight and brow furrowed with concern, as he spoke to Bruce without looking away from Tony’s face. “C’mon, I need your help.”

Steve slid his arms under Tony’s knees and back and lifted him easily, while Bruce tucked Tony’s injured hand over his stomach, his touch lingering protectively. Tony arched and hissed at the movement, trying to protest through the heavy, dense fog and confusion in his head. He just… he didn’t want it to be like this. Not with Bruce here. His head fell back weakly against Steve’s shoulder, and his dry eyes burned with nonexistent tears as they moved quickly to the elevator.

“Fuck…” he breathed, before his last shreds of lucidity swirled away into delirium.

 

_______________________________

 

“… _got a raging infection. No, I don’t think we…_ ” 

 

_______________________________

 

“… _nicked an artery, he’s lucky it stopped bleeding before…_ ”

 

_______________________________

 

“… _shock, it still hasn’t broken. Why hasn’t the fucking fever gone down…_ ”

 

_______________________________

 

“… _have to calm down, you’re not helping him if you’re freaking out, Bruce…_ ”

 

_______________________________

 

“… _should have noticed, we all should have noticed! Just the dehydration itself might have been enough to…_ ”

 

_______________________________

 

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

Tony squeezed his eyes shut a little tighter. 

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

Fucking shut up… 

“Shhh…” 

Well, close enough.

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

Damn. 

“Tony?” 

Tony felt a dizzying rush of blood in his ears when he tried to turn his head toward the voice, flashes and snippets of what happened filtering through his head. He swallowed against the sourness in his stomach and the pounding echo of the beeping monitors in his head. Oh. 

“Bruce?” he barely breathed, opening his eyes a bit, the room thankfully not spinning quite as much as he thought it would be.

“Yeah,” came the reply, then silence. He closed his eyes again. 

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

It might have been a few seconds, or it might have been a few hours before Tony was able to speak again. 

“Sorry…” He whispered. The sound of a creaking chair and soft footsteps were just audible over the beeping monitors, then Tony felt the mattress sink next to him, causing his muscles to protest as his body shifted; he opened his eyes and exhaled sharply as he was unpleasantly yanked into awareness. The sheets were soaked through, the pungent scent of his sweat thick in his nostrils; very nice, who didn’t love waking up in a pool of their own filth? Clean, white bandages hugged his injured hand tightly, hiding and containing the miserable mess beneath. He supposed that was nice too, in a less sarcastic way. And his good hand rested lifelessly in Bruce’s, who stroked Tony’s knuckles with his thumb, carefully avoiding the IV and many cables that ran from the monitors on his body, to the beeping machines beside the bed. That was… he wasn’t quite sure whether that was nice or not, yet. 

“Don’t. I didn’t mean anything I said, Tony. I’m so sorry, this is all my fault- I shouldn’t have pushed you like-“

“No…” Tony was having a difficult time getting his mouth to form the words currently stumbling through his head. He looked down at his hand lying limply in Bruce’s, and was jolted by the memory of that one day, months ago by now, when he sat on a bloody pile of rubble with Bruce’s limp hand in his, waiting for him to wake up. He sighed a little, and with pathetic weakness, pulled his hand from Bruce’s, letting it fall to the sheet. Bruce looked at his empty hand for a moment, then clenched it into a fist and rested it on his own knee. The weight of those two gestures seemed to settle right on his arc reactor, pressing with suffocating heaviness against his lungs. Tony closed his eyes again.

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

_Beep…_

“Tony…” 

“Mm?”

“Are you still with me?”

No. Not anymore.

“Yeah… yeah. ‘M here, Bruce.” 

Tony drug his eyes open again, this time making a sincere effort to stay focused, despite the profound exhaustion that continually threatened to pull him under. Bruce watched him earnestly, a crease between his concerned eyes. Tony looked at Bruce, and just felt… shattered. It was like a wall inside him had broken; every thought and feeling and fear that he had been repressing all this time now roiled and surged just under the surface, ready to burst forth raw and hateful and hell-bent on destroying whatever pathetic part of him was left. He clenched his jaw, Bruce’s last, agonizing words from _before_ ringing through his head, taunting him; cutting into him like razors. 

“Why are you here?”

Bruce looked at him in confusion, giving the monitors a side-glance as if to make sure the read-outs were still normal.

“Why am I- Tony, you’re my friend, you were hurt. Why wouldn’t I be here?”

Tony fought not to vomit at the horrible, sick tightening in his chest.

“Friend…” he repeated in a whisper. He shifted anxiously as if to distance himself from that word, exhaling sharply at how breathtakingly shitty he felt. “What happened?” 

“Excessive blood loss, severe infection, high fever, extreme dehydration, exhaustion, undernourishment… shall I continue?” Bruce said in serious tones. “Why didn’t you call to anyone for help, Tony?” he murmured, almost pleading. Tony wasn’t sure if he was talking about with his hand, or with everything.

“Didn’t think I needed it.”

“You could have bled out.”

Tony shrugged, sighing softly.

“I figured it would stop bleeding. Or… it wouldn’t.” he looked away. “Either was fine.” He finished, voice barely a whisper.

Bruce scrubbed over his face with his hand.

“Tony, no…”

Tony’s eyes hardened. He didn’t need Bruce’s fucking pity. 

“Bruce, I just…” he started. Just what? Never want him to leave? Want him to leave forever? Can’t handle seeing him all the time and having to re-live that loss over and over every goddamned day? Can’t get a fucking grip on himself to the point that literally began to waste away? He sighed at the blurred ceiling.

“Bruce, could I be alone for a while, please?” he whispered. Bruce hesitated, closely inspecting a loose thread on this pants seam.

“I, uh…” 

Tony looked back at Bruce, and narrowed his eyes. He might be slow and weak and quite possibly mentally unstable, but he wasn’t stupid.

“What? What is this, suicide watch?”

Bruce studied the loose thread on his pants a moment longer, then looked him in the eye.

“Yes.” He said simply. Tony closed his eyes, frustrated and infuriated and embarrassed and a million other emotions that he couldn’t pin down.

“Jesus, Banner, I probably couldn’t even stand to take a piss if I wanted, how the hell would you expect me to off myself?” he breathed hotly. 

“I’d prefer not to consider that answer,” Bruce said quietly. Tony took a deep breath, turning his head to look at Bruce again.

“Could you please just trade shifts with some other unfortunate babysitter then? No offense, Bruce, it’s just that…” he tried to gesture with his hand, but winced and let it fall back to the bed. “This is a little too much for me right now…” he finished in an ashamed whisper.

Bruce kept his face neutral, but Tony had known him long enough to recognize the look of hurt that passed across his eyes. The surge of guilt that went through him almost made him change his mind, the words catching in his throat just as Bruce slipped out of the door. Yet another thing he was good at; hurting the people he loved.

 

_______________________________

 

He must have drifted back into that hazy state of half-sleep in the time that Bruce was gone, because the next time he opened his eyes, Steve was sitting in Bruce’s chair, sketching or writing something in his notebook. He watched Steve, unnoticed, for several minutes while he tried to clear his head. Steve still had that pinched, pained look of concern in the tightness around his eyes, and Tony felt another rush of guilt at that. Not protecting Bruce’s memories, worrying the team, and now wasting all their time with Tony-watching duty; once again, everything pretty well boiled down to being his fault.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” he murmured, voice still rough. Steve jumped, startled, but rested his notebook on his knee to regard Tony.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why? It’s a waste of your time.” Steve sighed at that.

“Tony, you’re not a waste of our time.” 

Tony snorted.

“Yeah.”

Steve sighed and set his notebook aside, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. 

“You know, maybe if we’d all done a little better job just sitting by your side when you needed us to, we wouldn’t be here now.”

Tony watched Steve’s earnest face closely. Okay, maybe there was something to that. But it wasn’t the rest of the team spinning uncontrollably into chaos, either. He was the one that couldn’t cope. He was the one who couldn’t move on. Not Bruce, not Steve, but him. He felt that creeping shame again, and looked away.

“When can I go back home?” He whispered. Steve quirked up a corner of his lip.

“You are home.” 

Tony glared him.

“You know what I mean.”

“Once the infection is treated. Soon.”

Tony stared despondently at the ceiling for a while, unhappy with Steve’s non-committal answer, unhappy with being here, unhappy with everything. Wanting Bruce. Wanting him here beside him, laying next to him to keep him warm while he shivered through the fever, holding his hand and telling him excitedly about his latest piece of BannerTech they came up with in R&D. Each thought of Bruce was another stab in his gut, but he couldn’t stop himself from remembering, wishing. Wanting. 

A hot tear rolled down his cheek and into the pillow, and he turned his face away from Steve, even though the movement made his stomach churn and blood rush through his ears. He didn’t understand how it had been so long since Bruce’s accident, but thinking about how it used to be still punched the air out of his lungs like that, winded him so easily. He took a deep, steadying breath. 

“You don’t have to keep watching me, I’m going to be… I’ll be okay. Yesterday was just a-“ Steve cut him off.

“Yesterday? Tony, you went into your room six days ago. Jarvis didn’t even release the emergency overrides until three days ago.” 

Tony whipped his head back around, looking at Steve with his brows drawn together, determinedly ignoring the sour taste in the back of his mouth. 

“You’re kidding me, right?” he whispered. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“No, Tony- look, you really messed yourself up, we were really worried. I mean, really, really worried.” He looked up at Tony, his expression as grim as Tony’s was incredulous. “I’m- Tony, someone has to stay with you for a while, when you go back home.” He made a sharp gesture, cutting off the protest Tony was already starting to say. “It’s either that, or you turn Jarvis’ emergency override commands over to one of us, so you can’t lock yourself in your room for three days without eating or drinking, while you go into shock because of an untreated, infected wound that almost kills you.”

Tony was speechless, almost flinching under Steve’s intense look and low, commanding note in his voice. The muscles in his jaw flexed as he clenched his teeth, bristling at being ordered around like some kind of goddamned intern.

“I’m not giving up Jarvis, you can have him over my dead fucking body,” he said coldly. Steve returned the cold look and tone.

“Then we’re not leaving you alone.”

“This is bullshit! It’s my fucking tower, I’ll toss you out on the fucking street if I have to!”

“You’re in no condition to toss anyone anywhere.”

“Well I’m definitely in no condition to be babysat like a motherfucking child!

“Fine! Why don’t you ask Jarvis what he thinks, then? He can tell you himself how much he likes being hamstringed by his programming so badly that he has to sit helplessly and watch his creator destroy himself, and can’t do a damn thing to help him!” 

“Don’t you fucking dare turn this into-“

Steve got up in a quick motion and stood lividly over Tony, who stared up at him defiantly, both their faces red and furious.

“Goddammit, Tony, we’re not going to lose you because of your own stupidity! 

The silence between them hung heavy for a long, breathless moment, before Tony deflated, realizing he didn’t have it in him to argue. He just didn’t care. Well no, he actually cared a whole hell of a lot, but he didn’t have enough energy to act upon it. Not now. Maybe not ever again. He let his head fall back, humiliated and defeated at what he’d become. The Invincible Iron Man; Avenger, hero, genius, savior of the Earth; reduced to a sniveling mental patient who had less control over his emotions than a toddler, all because he couldn’t fucking move on after a bad day at the office.

“Jarvis, release emergency override protocol controls to Captain Steve Rogers…” He hesitated a moment, biting his lip, then lowered his gaze from Steve’s. “…and Doctor Bruce Banner. Authorization Stark-Epsilon-Gamma mark 12-482,” he finished in a pained whisper. 

“Of course, Sir.”

And that was what did it. He wasn’t even in control of himself anymore. His own autonomy in the tower was stripped, his own creation answered to someone other than him. He lost Bruce, lost happiness, lost Jarvis, lost his mind… All the raw, blistering emotions that had ripped from him boiled over once again, too easily; he was flayed open, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t repress any more. He felt like Steve and Bruce- everything, really- had their fingers cruelly dug into a bleeding wound in his chest, trying to rip it open it further. 

He fought the stiffness and pain in his body and the nauseating bile in his stomach, and did his best to roll into a ball on his side, the curve of his back protecting him from Steve’s sharp, pitying gaze. His breaths were ragged and wheezing as he curled in on himself, and he tried frantically to shut out Steve’s presence, that steady reminder that he couldn’t be trusted, even with himself; that he had failed everyone around him over and over again. 

The reminder that when struggle and strife reduced each of them to their most base elements and revealed the true strengths within, all that was remained of him was this.

They should have just left him where they found him.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony leaned heavily against the elevator wall on his way back to the penthouse from the infirmary, not quite able hold himself up without assistance, but definitely not clinging to someone’s arm like a fainting damsel, either. His mouth was set in a grim line as he stared intently at the doors and cradled his bandaged hand against his chest, doing his level best to ignore Steve’s eyes boring into the back of his head, Clint’s mindless chatter about some stupid cop/dog/bounty hunter show he started watching, and Bruce’s quiet shuffle as he pressed himself into a corner.

This entourage thing? Yeah, it was complete bullshit. He hadn’t even stepped foot back into his penthouse, and he was already on edge just having them here, his fingers twitching against the steel railing on the wall. He slipped through the elevator doors before they opened all the way and stalked silently to his bedroom, using the wall for support now and then. 

_It’s for your own good, it’s only because we care…_ the simpering words echoed in his head and made him want to throw something. He hated this. Them. Jarvis. Himself. He breathed deeply when he entered his room, frowning at the antiseptic scent. The room was clean, repaired, and sanitized, with no indication that he’d gone off the fucking deep end like a grade-A, Hollywood mental patient. He fell onto the bed despondently. 

Everything was just so close to the surface, the blessed numbness from before shattered. People’s voices were like a cheese grater on his brain. Every furtive, worried look in his direction made him want to punch through another mirror. Every glimpse of Bruce made him either want to scream until he passed out or weep like a child. Just seeing his room, all cleaned and repaired in his absence, pissed him right the fuck off, as if to erase what happened, sweep his little breakdown under the rug like it didn’t mean anything. In a frustrated huff, he rolled and grabbed Bruce’s pillow, holding it to his face and inhaling deeply. Fabric softener. Not a hint of Bruce’s scent. With a noise of disgust, he threw the pillow away from him and curled up tightly on his side, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. 

Tony continued to feel like a clock spring being wound too far, every day another half turn too tight. He wandered the tower in frustrated rage and lay wide-awake and sweaty in bed after clawing his way out of nightmare after nightmare, unable to pull himself from the pit of anxiety that he kept falling into. Unable to stop thinking about Bruce’s last words to him, how hollow they left him, even now that he felt so raw and exposed. 

Trembling and jumpy, he curled around himself, revolted, against the sick feeing in his gut and the blinding pain in his head. He was consumed by the overwhelming need to find a drink, the craving hammering non-stop at his every thought. He desperately scoured every liquor cabinet in the tower with shaking hands, only to scream in rage when he found they were they were all emptied, and any attempt of his to find more liquor was quickly thwarted by Natasha or Jarvis.

When he wasn’t working in the lab (or more accurately, staring angrily at his blueprints), he paced his room, fitful and agitated, wanting so badly to get in the suit and go blow some shit up in the mountains, but unable to, since override commands were still in Steve’s control and the suit was on lockdown. He twisted and pulled at the fabric of his shirt, damp with a cold sweat, as he muttered to himself and paced circles in his room like an imprisoned animal. What, did they think he’d put a repulsor to his head and fire? Fly into the outer atmosphere and free-fall? Did they think Jarvis would actually allow that? He grew increasingly pissed and distressed, before finally making a frustrated noise and storming out of his room for his kitchen, where he could hear Steve and Thor laughing at something. He stalked up to Steve and jabbed his still-shaking finger in Steve’s chest.

“I want the damn suit back!”

Steve just paused his conversation and looked at him calmly.

“No.”

“Dammit, I need to get out of here!”

“We can go for a walk in the park.”

“I don’t want a fucking walk in the park, warden! I want you to unlock my cage so I can go put on my billion dollar, gold-titanium, flying suit of armor, take my ass to the north pole, and blast a hole in the ozone layer before I melt the polar ice caps with every weapon I have aboard, and I want to do it without you there clucking your tongue like a goddamned hen!”

“You’re not putting on that suit, Tony.” 

Tony threw up his hands, already giving up, feeling out of control and impotent.

“Go walk yourself to the fucking park, I hope you get mugged,” he growled, jabbing hatefully at the elevator button, glaring at Steve as the doors closed to take him to his workshop. However, he got no more relief pacing here than he did pacing his room. Dummy and U followed him incessantly, chirping and pinching at his shirt, and he alternated between wanting to chain them to their damn charging docks so they’d stay out of his fucking hair, and wanting to pet them like carbon-titanium kittens. 

Pushing Dummy away probably a little more aggressively than necessary, Tony gave up the pacing and crouched in front of a supply fridge looking for chemicals he could mix to blow things up. But before he could pull out anything more volatile than baking soda and vinegar, an insistent clicking near his foot got his attention; the little paperclip robot he made just after Bruce lost his memories was scuttling about in Dummy’s and U’s wake and brandishing his claws, ridiculously tiny and inexplicably endearing. Tony quirked his lip, picking him up and flopping on the couch, letting him dart unsteadily across his legs. Tony watched the little robot’s progress, letting it soothe away the horrible, crawling anxiety that kept trying to claw its way out of his chest.

“Damn you, Jarvis,” he muttered, frustrated.

“Pardon, Sir?”

“You fucking sold me out, man.”

“My deepest apologies, Sir. My only concern is for your continued safety and well-being.”

Tony snorted softly, despite his annoyed mood.

“Don’t you suck up to me, you’re grounded for a year,” he said without heat. 

“I shall endure it with dignity and grace, I assure you, Sir.”

Tony poked at the paperclip robot when he raised his tiny claws at him.

“Jarvis, you’re a tragedy.”

“For which I am eternally chagrined, resigned to the cruel fate of my programming, Sir.”

Tony huffed a small laugh, giving the paperclip robot a pencil and leaning around the couch to watch him scuttle away with it raised over his head like a trophy. He reclined back, foul mood mostly dissipated. He needed to do something, but he didn’t know what. He’d been spinning his tires uncontrollably, and it wasn’t getting him or Bruce anywhere. He couldn’t focus on anything but getting Bruce’s memories back, but when he was working on that, he couldn’t focus on anything but getting away from it. In between times, he paced, and raged, and bit everyone’s heads off, simultaneously wanting them to stay with him and wanting them to fuck off.

Tony sat up and rubbed his hand over his face, then walked determinedly to a storeroom. The only thing that would change this shit-stain of a situation was something drastic. He smirked as he dug out a flat stack of cardboard file boxes, and was soon stomping wordlessly past the others in the penthouse as he stalked back to his room with the boxes under his arm. 

This was what he needed. What _they_ needed. He wrenched open the door to Bruce’s closet in his bedroom, confronted by the neat rows of Bruce’s meager wardrobe looking back at him dolefully, a few shirts missing here and there that Bruce must have snuck out while Tony was in the lab. He caught the corner of a sleeve between his fingers, feeling the nubby weave of the fabric, most of it rough, simple linens or cottons, in faded colors. Not at all like the collection of flash and dazzle that comprised Tony’s wardrobe. Tony’s ire faded into immediate melancholy. Mood swing; that was the word they were using while he was in the infirmary. He called bullshit at the time, but maybe they weren’t too far off the mark, after all.

Sighing, he pulled the shirts off the hangers one by one, folding each one and putting it into a box, stopping now and then to wipe his face on his sleeve. He needed this, he repeated to himself. However painful, he needed to jam something into the gears in his head, or they’d all be stuck in this mess forever, or until they finally realized he was just dead weight and cut him off entirely. 

Tony finished the job slowly, touching every item, every book, every little trace of Bruce left in his room, before sealing them away tenderly in their boxes, and stacking them neatly in the hallway. When he was done, he took a deep breath, steeling himself against the inevitable. He needed to talk to Bruce; they needed to figure out what was next. He hadn’t seen much of him since he came back from the infirmary, but again, he hadn’t really seen much of anyone.

“Jarvis, where’s Bruce?” he asked softly.

“He has been in his bedroom since last night, Sir.”

Tony nodded, staring at the boxes a few more moments before turning on his heel and walking down the hall. He had to do it before he lost his nerve. He paused in front of Bruce’s door and took two deep, steadying breaths, then knocked, swinging it open and walking in without waiting for an answer.

“Bruce, I think we- His words died in his throat when he was fully in the room. It smelled of Bruce’s woodsy soap, and he felt as though he’d been transported to another time, when Bruce might have just stepped out of the shower and Tony would have wrapped his arms around his waist and buried his face in Bruce’s damp curls, just to breathe his scent and drop kisses on the nape of his neck. There were tea mugs on the bedside table and the dresser, and a few flower stems stuck in a water glass, looking as if they had been plucked right from the arrangement sitting on the receptionist’s desk in the front lobby of the tower. 

But there were also sloppy piles of clothing on the floor here and there, completely at odds with Bruce’s usual tidy minimalism, papers scattered haphazardly on nearly every flat surface in the room, and an overturned table with a towel tossed across it and a thin layer of dust, looking as though it had been kicked over ages ago and never righted.

What caught his attention and made him shut up for once though, was the sight of Bruce sitting on his unmade bed, huddled against the head board with his knees drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, and forehead resting on his knees, tablet sitting discarded by his feet. He looked as though he’d been sitting that way quite some time, judging by the bleary way he looked up at Tony, startled.

“Tony? What’re you doing in here?” Bruce asked softly, not really moving from his position. For the first time in far too long, it struck Tony like a punch in the gut that Bruce was suffering, too. That maybe Bruce was barely holding it together as well, and trying his damnedest to hide it from Tony and the others. He was suddenly overcome with a wave of guilt so profound that he thought he might actually drown in it. 

“Bruce? Are you okay?” Tony asked, moving to sit on Bruce’s bed. Bruce looked at him in mild confusion for a moment, then slowly stretched his legs out, hissing a little and flexing his feet, as if to stave off pins and needles. He furrowed his brow at Tony. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just… meditating. Why?”

Tony really looked at Bruce. _Really_ looked. Studying him in a way he hadn’t since before the accident. Hair wild and untrimmed. Shirt wrinkled. Dark, deep under eye bags. Mouth set in a grim line, eyes tired. Whole body tight and withdrawn. Tony’s sense of guilt deepened. The whole reason he had been struggling with what had happened was because he loved Bruce so much, and this entire time, he’d been neglecting the one person he cared about, who needed him the most.

“Jesus, Bruce, I’m sorry…” Tony breathed. “I shouldn’t have left you to deal with all this alone…” Tony couldn’t even begin to comprehend all the ways he’d failed Bruce while he was mired in emotional quicksand. Bruce only looked at him a few moments, expression unreadable.

“But that’s not what you came here to tell me,” he stated quietly, shrewdly.

“No.”

“Then what?”

Tony was suddenly quite interested in picking at a hangnail, not meeting Bruce’s eyes.

“I thought it might be a good idea if you moved back into your old apartment, a floor down. It could… It might make it a little easier for us both to… move on,” he said, voice barely a whisper. There was a long pause where Tony could feel Bruce’s eyes on him.

“And if I don’t want to?”

Tony looked up at Bruce, who still wore an unreadable expression. That wasn’t exactly the answer he expected. To be honest, he thought Bruce would jump at the chance to get out from under his toxic cloud, to have his own life away from whatever misery Tony inflicted upon him.

“Why wouldn’t you want to?” he asked, genuinely confused. Bruce bit his lip, twisting his fingers together a little.

“I might not remember _before,_ but I do remember _after._ Tony, this penthouse… this is all I know. The only real home I know.” Bruce looked at his lap. 

“But…” Tony looked uncertainly around the room again, wondering how many cracks were threatening to shatter Bruce’s calm facade. “But you seem… stressed here,” he said, gesturing vaguely at everything. Bruce frowned.

“And for some reason you think I wouldn’t be?”

“No, I just thought…” he shook his head. “You know, I don’t know what I thought,” he finished lamely, and made to stand and leave. Bruce’s arm shot out and caught his, then released it just as quickly, as if he still wasn’t used to actually being able to touch other people. Tony’s heart clenched a little.

“Wait- I didn’t mean for you to…” Bruce trailed off as Tony settled back down on the bed, sitting cross-legged facing him, pinching the bridge of his nose. This needed to be out. They needed to figure this out. Together.

“Bruce, I’ve been horrible, I’ll be the first to admit it. I can’t even _begin_ to apologize; but you’re like… I don’t know, like a wound that can’t heal. _I_ can’t heal. Seeing you every day is like seeing a ghost of what we had.” He could hardly say the words out loud. “I don’t know if I should keep hoping, or just give up. I feel… I feel like it’s killing me.”

Bruce’s frown deepened, staring at his lap where is hands rested open, palms up.

“I know,” he whispered. “It’s the same for me.” 

Tony scrubbed his hand over his face.

“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do here. How do people go on after shit like this?” He raked his fingers through his hair, then pulled his hand down to rest over his arc reactor, tapping on the rim. “I just thought that at least you could start over, have a life of your own, you know? Without me there dragging you under because I wasn’t strong enough to deal with it.”

Bruce remained silent, eyes looking blankly at his palms in his lap. Tony leaned to the side and tilted his head, trying to catch Bruce’s eye.

“Bruce…?”

“You know, I’ve read everything I could since I’ve been here. All my journals, all my lab research, our project notes. I’ve been trying to figure out how _we_ happened,” he said very quietly.

Tony exhaled, realizing that he was holding his breath.

“And?”

“I don’t know. You’re out of your damned mind 90% of the time, I’m a paranoid, raging mess on the constant verge of a breakdown. Reading what I wrote is like reading fiction; based on how I remember things, it should never have been possible.” He scratched the back of his neck and pushed his glasses up on his nose. “I read that, and I think about what I _do_ remember here, and… I don’t want to move out. Yet.”

It was Tony’s turn to frown.

“What does that mean? Are you…?” He gestured between them. Bruce finally looked up.

“No. I don’t know. I’m just… I’m here, and…” He ran his hand through his hair again, the curls now more of a fluffy halo than anything else. “I’m sorry, you’ve been having a really hard time, I shouldn’t be unloading on you like this…”

“No, Bruce- talk to me. We need to do this.”

Bruce drew his legs up to his chest again, doing that thing he did when he wanted to be invisible.

“After the accident, for a good three days I thought this was all some elaborate ruse that Ross had come up with, to get me complacent and off my guard. But after you showed me those photos, I was _so angry_ … I felt like I’d been violated. Like I’d been robbed of a normal life. _Again_. I almost… almost lost control of the Other Guy… and then I think I might have cried for a week straight,” he said in a soft, sad voice.

“Bruce…” Tony whispered. He wanted to reach out and hold his hand, but he was certain that would make it all worse. Bruce continued on, staring resolutely at the mattress in front of his feet, hugging his legs tightly as the words spilled out.

“Every word I read, every photo I looked at, it was like they taunted me. I had a _life_. I thought I’d never have that again. I had someone who messed up my omelets in the mornings, and picked out things at a tea shop just because he thought I might like something new, and sat up with me to watch stupid movies because I couldn’t stop having nightmares, who I could quote ridiculous poetry to and leave sticky notes on the mirror for and meet for lunch at dive burger joints.” Bruce took a deep breath, tightening his fingers into the fabric of his pants. “Someone who didn’t run in terror when I got angry, who I could act like an asshole around and not have them worried I was about to turn into the Other Guy. And I don’t get to remember any of it. I can’t even think back on happy memories of how it used to be, or spend time with the person I shared it all with. That part of me- my life- is just… gone.”

Tony could feel his eyes prickling, and clenched his jaw. He couldn’t tell which hell was worse; to have the memories and wish you didn’t, or not have the memories and wish you did. Bruce’s face hardened.

“I have to get them back, Tony. I’m too scared to leave the building; I walk through the tower, and every time I hear a noise, I’m looking over my shoulder thinking Ross finally found me. Every time I eat I have to stop myself from hoarding the food and remind myself that I can have another meal whenever I want. Every time I get dirty, I have to remember that I can clean myself, that I don’t have to ration out fresh water and worry about not having enough to drink. I have to…” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I have to know that I don’t need to avoid the rest of the team in case I accidentally kill them, because I might shut my hand in the door and my control slips for an instant. I have to know… I have to know that I’m not a _monster_.”

“You’re not a monster, Bruce,” Tony said in a low, vehement voice. Bruce looked up at him, his face still hard.

“But I don’t _know_ that! Don’t you get it? I can’t… Tony, I can’t even _touch_ myself! We had an intimate relationship, and the only thing I remember is that I haven’t made love or been sexual in any way, and I do mean _any way_ , in the better part of a decade, let alone had someone hold my hand just because they wanted to! And no matter how badly I needed it or how stressed I was, if I had the audacity to even _think_ about it, the Other Guy would come out and destroy everything in a five-mile radius! Can you even _imagine_ what that’s like? For _seven years?_ Call me crazy, but those are some memories I’d _really_ like to have back!” 

Bruce’s voice had taken on an angry, frantic edge, but he was already taking deep, calming breaths and forcibly relaxing his clenched fists before Tony could tell him to calm down. 

“I’ve spent every moment for the last seven years resigning myself to the fact that I would never be happy, never be _good_. Never have anything nice or anyone to share it with. Then I wake up one day and find out that I did have all that, but there’s nothing left of it for me to cherish or remember, and… it’s torture.” He sighed and let his forehead fall back on his knees. “It’s the worst torture I’ve ever endured,” he murmured, voice muffled.

Everything that Tony suffered since the accident seemed childish and selfish in the light of Bruce’s desperate confession. He was ashamed of how much he let it affect him, how Bruce had been suffering right alongside him. They should have found their way through this together, and Tony regretted every lonely step. He reached for Bruce’s hand, and laced their fingers together firmly. Bruce looked up at him with surprise, and maybe a little suspicion.

“What are you doing?”

“Bruce, I’m sorry. I’ve been drowning. I still am… and I’m pulling you down with me. And I haven’t done anything to help you realize the life you were free to live now, and I’m really hating myself right now for that. No, let me finish,” he said, cutting off the argument that Bruce was about to make. “I loved you. I still love you. And you don’t owe me anything because of that. But I just… You have to _trust me_ when I say you aren’t a monster. And it wasn’t me that made it true, it was you. And you can make it true again, with or without me.” 

He looked down at their hands and studied Bruce’s reddened nail beds, chewed and irritated, something Bruce always did during long stretches of anxiety. Tony stroked his fingers gently over the inflamed skin, then slowly crawled over the mattress so he was sitting next to Bruce, leaning against the headboard. Then for the first time with both of them awake, he shifted incrementally closer until he and Bruce touched, shoulders to hips to legs, still holding hands.

Tony swallowed against the tightness in his throat when he felt every muscle in Bruce’s body tense. But he didn’t move. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stay relaxed, and after a very long time, Bruce’s body began to slowly loosen, tight muscles easing, quickened breaths slowing. Bruce pulled his glasses off and let them fall to the bed, pressing his thumb and fingers hard against his eyes and breathing deeply. 

“So what does this mean for us?” Bruce breathed. Tony bit his lip, fighting back the shuddering emptiness in his chest.

“I don’t think there’s an _us_ anymore.”

The silence stretched long and heavy between them.

“What does this mean for _me_ , then?”

“It means that I’m going to do everything I can- and I really mean it- to pull my head out of my ass and try to help you get your memories back, or help you live a normal life if I can’t.” Tony rubbed at his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’m a miserable fucking mess right now, I really am. All I can promise is that I’ll try. And tell you I’m sorry that it took me this long to realize that you’re just as alone in this as I am.”

Bruce didn’t say anything, but squeezed Tony’s hand tightly, as if he were worried his touch wasn’t real. They sat quietly in the bed together for a very long time, until Bruce fell into a fitful sleep, sitting up against the headboard. Only then did Tony lower his head onto his own knees and let a few tears fall, angry and shameful and still boiling just under the surface. But this time he didn’t spiral into defeating self-hate like before. Now he felt resolute, once again steely in his determination to fix Bruce. 

After a while he wiped at his eyes with his sleeve and delicately extricated himself from Bruce’s grip, he guided Bruce into a more comfortable position lying down and covered him with the blanket. On his way out of the room, he quietly put the dirty clothes in the laundry chute and gathered the mugs to take to the kitchen. He felt helpless and stupid at doing so, but it was the only gesture he could think of at the moment that might convey even a fraction of how sorry he felt. He paused at the door, looking back at Bruce and sighing. He was an engineer, a mechanic. He was supposed to be able to fix shit, rebuild it, make it better. And he had no idea what the hell he was doing. He couldn’t imagine how this could possibly get any worse. 

 

___________________

 

In the coming days and weeks, Tony made good on his word, grimly driven to be better for Bruce. It was a constant struggle, though; ever since the wall inside him came down, it seemed like he could feel every emotion at once, alternating between anxiety and anger and optimism and sadness so quickly that he fell into bed, mentally exhausted, every night. Bruce stayed in the penthouse, but Tony didn’t go back in his room again. Instead, they worked with Thor, redoubling their efforts and looking harder at some of the theoretical work they had abandoned earlier. One night in the wee hours before dawn, Bruce sat cross-legged on his worktable in the lab, raking his fingers through his hair with a frustrated sigh.

“What if we used a multi-phase pulse emitter? We’ve been going about this all this time thinking of it in terms of using a reactor as a magnet, to attract the particles in question. What if we used a pulse to push them? I don’t know, like a net, maybe? Force them where we want them to go?”

Tony huffed a tired, humorless laugh. 

“Ion radiation particle fishing. Sounds good. You gas up the yacht, I’ll get the beer.” He turned away from the coffeepot, gulping down a scalding mouthful of the dark brew. On his way back to his stool, he shoved lightly at Thor, who was asleep with his arms sprawled over his table, snoring loudly. “Hey. Sleeping beauty. Get up or go to bed, you’re shaking the rafters apart here.”

Thor startled and sat up groggily, rubbing his face with both hands. 

“Apologies, my friends.” He yawned widely. “May I?” he asked Tony, gesturing at his coffee. Tony quirked a lip and handed his mug over, which Thor downed in a gulp, smacking his lips. “Ah, the finest nectar of the gods…” he murmured with a small smile, looking into the empty mug, before standing to refill it and one for Tony. Tony took his refill and returned to his seat, while Thor made more coffee.

“Okay, so pulse beam. What if…” he scowled at the floor for a moment, tapping against his arc reactor before his fingers froze mid-tap. “You know, all this time we’ve been looking at traditional nuclear physics; designing reactors that are contained and controlled, thinking of the chain reaction as the catalyst for ionized magnetic properties.”

“So? How else can we keep the reaction controlled? It’s not like we can create fission in a bucket in the backyard. I feel like I can say with a particular authority that playing nuclear physicist outside of a reactor is a rather bad idea.” Bruce sipped his tea, snorting derisively to himself. Tony waved his hand dismissively before resting it back on his arc reactor.

“No, no, I’m not talking about making a bomb. What if… okay, what if we calibrated the arc reactor emission signature to the particle frequency of the meridians we’ve isolated? The inverse static field could both attract the particles and act as a refractor, focusing them enough for a burst pulse.”

Bruce looked up sharply.

“Would the small reactor be powerful enough to counteract the phase-shift variance in the ion wavelengths?”

“Maybe… I mean, it _is_ a particle accelerator, and the Unibeam packs at least as much punch as the weapons the aliens used; if it were calibrated properly, it might just work.”

“Well, we already isolated the field parameters…” 

Thor stood and walked over to Bruce’s table, pulling out the charts that he’d drawn up from under Bruce’s leg. 

“Aye, and if the device could somehow create a sustained vortex- a beacon, if you will- rather than a singular burst, perhaps it could be even more effective. Similar to the pull of a mighty undertow beneath the calm ocean waters,” he said. Bruce sat up straighter.

“And didn’t you say that theoretically, the memories are tethered to me, rather than just floating at random in sub-space?”

“Indeed. The consciousness remains linked to the body, even though they may not be united.” 

Tony pulled the charts from Thor’s hand.

“So then, the vortex pulls in the consciousness, and attracts the ionic particles that pulled it out in the first place, so on the kick-back from the Unibeam-“

Bruce’s eyes lit up.

“They bounce back to the source-“

“Like a goddamned slingshot!” Tony breathed.

Hardly anyone dared to breathe; every time before this that they had an idea or breakthrough, it had been a failure, each more crushing than the one before. Tony told himself not to get his hopes up, but it was hard; this time, it really seemed plausible. Arc reactor tech was something he _knew_ , something he could control. This wasn’t nebulous particle physics that operated only in the theoretical. This was concrete, real.

They approached the work feverishly, but with trepidation. Tony was resolute, once again working at an almost inhuman pace, cranking out prototypes like a machine. Bruce was quiet and restrained, working closely with Thor to isolate the precise phase differentials needed for the RT. Tony could tell Bruce was trying not to get his hopes up. He knew that if this didn’t work, they really didn’t have any other theories to fall back on. He didn’t want to think about what might happen to either of them, should they fail yet again.

He finally came up with an RT prototype that created a small-scale stable field, something that they could test in the lab. Tony had to take several deep breaths before he could take it to Bruce, who held like spun glass and looked at it quietly for a long time. He ran his finger gently around the metal lock ring, the pale blue light reflecting in his glasses. 

“It looks just like yours,” he murmured. Tony smiled a little. 

“Yeah…” he put his hands over Bruce’s, the light shining through their fingers. “Bruce… it’s just a prototype, we don’t even know yet…”

Bruce nodded, his grip tightening on the prototype. 

“I know, I just… I’m trying not to let myself hope again.”

“Me either.”

They worked over the next few days to calibrate the RT prototype with robotic precision, Tony’s chest was tight with crawling anxiety the entire time. He was almost too afraid to test the unit, terrified of the possibility that it might be another failure. When the prototype was ready for testing and they could no longer delay the trials, Tony didn’t sleep at all the night before, pacing his room for hours with a sick, queasy churning in his stomach. Bruce was pale and uneasy that morning as well, and quietly requested that no one be present for the procedure but Tony. 

“I just don’t know how I’ll react if it doesn’t work,” he mumbled to Tony as the others left. Tony stood near him, their shoulders touching.

“It’s okay. I feel the same.”

They stood behind the barrier, the prototype set up in an isolation chamber, shielded from the rest of the tower. The point wasn’t to see if they could gather radiation yet, but to see if the Unibeam vortex would remain stable. They checked and re-checked all their calculations and ran everything by Jarvis for what seemed like the millionth time, the tension growing tighter and heavier with each passing hour, until Bruce finally looked up at Tony and nodded. Tony’s mouth was set in a grim line.

“Initiating Alpha prototype trial phase; series one, test one. Vortex burst at 5% of capacity, thirty-second duration. On my mark.” He looked at Bruce, then back through the window of the isolation chamber. “Three… two… one… mark.” 

Immediately the prototype surged brilliant blue, emitting what looked like a shockwave that left a shimmering purple field in its wake. A high-pitched whine reached them through the barrier wall, the pitch growing slowly higher and higher. They watched the swirling colors around the RT in tense silence, not even breathing, until there was a startling flash of white light, and Bruce jerked, making a choking sound. 

“Bruce?” Tony hissed, whipping around just as Bruce lurched forward, clutching unseeingly at the worktable, still making that horrible choking sound. Tony rushed to his side, supporting his shoulders, turning Bruce’s chin to look at him. His eyes surged and flared vivid, poison green.

“Jarvis! Cut it off, _now!_ Bruce, listen to me, can you hear me? Bruce!”

Tony’s heart threatened to pound out of his chest. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they had accounted for absolutely every variable; there shouldn’t have been any exposure. “Jarvis, scans! Containment leaks, radiation emissions, everything!” Whatever Jarvis said in reply was lost when Bruce clutched at Tony’s arms; the green faded from his eyes as they rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor. 

“ _BRUCE!_ ” Tony panicked, holding Bruce’s face, shouting for the others, checking Bruce’s pulse. But hardly thirty seconds had passed when Bruce took an enormous, gasping breath, his back arching off the floor, and his eyes flew wide open with pupils hardly bigger than pinpricks. 

“Tony… _Tony!_ ” he breathed, sitting bolt upright and looking at Tony in shock. “Paper… I need paper…” he muttered, heaving himself unsteadily from the floor and scrabbling at the worktable, knocking things off in his search. “Paper! I need something to goddamned write with!” he hissed. Tony kneeled in disbelief on the floor for just a moment, before he did a quick search and shoved a pencil and paper into Bruce’s hands.

“Bruce, what’s happening? What’s going on?” he asked warily as Bruce scribbled frantically on the paper, muttering incoherently. Bruce didn’t answer until he finished, then thrust the paper at Tony with a shaking hand, the edges crumpled in his fist. Tony took it and looked, his mouth falling open and eyes widening, grip on the delicate page tightening. It was a grouping of molecular chains; Serotonin, Dopamine, and Adrenaline, with a heart drawn around them, set in the center of an arc reactor. Love molecules. Or at least, if something like love could be rendered with such simplicity. Tony looked up at Bruce, both of them with wide, incredulous eyes. 

Tony said nothing, but ran through the lab to his drafting table, rooting noisily through a drawer until he found something, and brought it back to Bruce. It was a short love note to Tony, scrawled in Bruce’s small, slanting script, with this exact drawing rendered neatly next to Bruce’s name at the bottom. Bruce stared at it, hands shaking.

“Tony, it’s just a few things… this… something about falling while ice skating…”

“Bruce…?” Tony breathed, barely daring to hope.

“They’re fading, the memories; I can feel them slipping…” Bruce’s voice was low and frantic, and when he looked up at Tony, he looked as though he might cry. “Tony… I remember…”

He patted his chest, over his heart.

“I mean, _I remember us_ …”

Tony froze, unable to process the meaning of his words, even as Bruce dropped the papers on the floor and closed the distance between them, took Tony’s face in both hands, and kissed him hard and desperate and needy on the mouth, as if he might never have the chance to again.


	11. Chapter 11

Tony’s hands hovered in the air, his whole body stiff, mind utterly, uselessly blank. That is, until Bruce slid his cool, calloused hands from Tony’s face, over his shoulders and back, and slipped them under the hem of his t-shirt. That was the moment. That was the exact instant when it hit him that Bruce remembered. That however fleeting it may be, at this very moment they were just Tony and Bruce again, and they were in love.

Tony made a soft sound against Bruce’s lips, and they both melted into the kiss, Bruce clutching and grasping at the skin of Tony’s back, trying to pull their bodies as close together as possible, Tony pressed hard into him, tangling his fingers in Bruce’s disheveled curls and holding Bruce’s hips to his with a hand at the small of his back. They panted, desperate and frantic, hungrily drinking in each other’s touch, breathing each other’s air. Bruce made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, ghosting his fingers over Tony’s temple and cheekbone.

“Tony… god, I remember now… I love you, I love you so much and I’m so sorry…” he breathed against Tony’s mouth, then pressed Tony back so his hips were pinned between Bruce’s hips and the table, his hands everywhere. Bruce’s voice was fervent, as if he wanted to pour every ounce of emotion in him into those words, and unreservedly give them to Tony, saving nothing for himself.

“I love you too, Bruce… I want to say it to you all the time,” Tony whispered, and then they no longer needed words to convey how they felt. They clutched at each other as if drowning, lips bruised and wet, breath coming in short, hitching gasps. Tasting each other. Savoring every touch, waves of goose bumps trailing behind wandering fingers and scratching nails. Tony rested a hand against the curve of Bruce’s neck, his thumb pressing gently into Bruce’s hammering pulse. Bruce slid a hand around Tony’s waist and covered the light of Tony’s arc reactor with the other, grazing his lips across the stubble of Tony’s jaw.

“When you said we were in love, I didn’t think it could feel like this… It’s so… intoxicating...” He pressed his forehead against Tony’s, his cheeks damp, their lips barely touching. “We have to make the prototype work, get the rest of the memories back; I don’t ever want to lose this feeling again…”

Tony breathed in his words, as if they were air to a drowning man. 

“We will, it’ll work… Bruce, please- say it again, I never thought I’d hear you tell me you loved me again…” He bit his lip, doing everything in his power not to fucking break down, but unable to stop a few tears from sliding down his cheek. Bruce loved him again. Loved _him_. Tony had no idea how truly dead and empty his heart had been, until Bruce’s words began to fill that void with warmth. Bruce smiled against his mouth, one of very few honest, genuine smiles Tony had seen from him since the accident.

“I love you Tony. I love you, I love you… I could never say it enough,” he murmured, punctuating it with tender kiss.

“But not nearly as much as I love you…” Tony murmured, smiling back.

“I remember- the first time you said you loved me… You were-“ Bruce trailed off, words dying in his throat, and his eyes flew open. “No…”

Tony drew back a little, their lips only millimeters apart, and looked at Bruce’s strained expression.

“Bruce? What is it?”

“No… it’s gone… it was there, and then it was gone…” his voice increased in pitch, with an edge of hysteria. “Tony, they’re slipping away…”

Tony’s heart plummeted. He grasped Bruce’s face with both hands and looked into his eyes.

“Try to hang on to them, Bruce. Describe them to me, maybe they’ll stick. Tell me… tell me about the first time we made love,” He whispered. Bruce covered Tony’s hands with his own and shook his head slightly, his expression strained. 

“Our first time- it wasn’t here, we were… by the ocean. Malibu,” he bit his lip, struggling. “We were in Malibu, and it was close to sunset because there was yellow light everywhere. You were in the kitchen making… something- I don’t… and I kissed you behind the ear.” Tony brushed his thumbs across Bruce’s cheekbones, and Bruce’s eyes got brighter. “You always kiss me behind the ear, so I- I…” Bruce stopped, his eyes sliding out of focus for a moment.

“Keep talking Bruce, keep telling me,” Tony whispered.

“No- no, no no no… _not again! Please!_ ” Bruce squeezed his eyes shut, gripping Tony’s hands and gritting his teeth. “I can’t, Tony! They’re just… fading!” He clutched Tony to him desperately, burying his face in Tony’s neck and taking deep, gasping breaths. Tony just held and him and pressed his lips to Bruce’s hair, trying his level best not to fucking lose it.

“It’s okay, Bruce, we’ll-“

Bruce froze, cutting off Tony’s strangled words. He drew back sharply, breaking contact with Tony, looking at him with a mixture of fear and embarrassment and anger and frustration and a hundred other things. His eyes were empty of the love that warmed them moments before, and filled instead with anxiety at having just realized how intimately he and Tony were touching. He shook his head at Tony with despair clouding his every feature.

“It’s… Jesus, Tony, it’s gone! It’s like… I remember that I could remember something, but it’s like- like trying to hang on to a dream…” He clenched his fists, his voice getting louder. “How is that even possible?! The memories were there, and now… They’re not. Tony… they’re all gone, all of them!” Bruce was pleading, hysterical, already pulling further away. “ _Why?_ Why can’t I ever have anything for myself? I just… all I wanted was to remember us…” Tony reached for him.

“We’ll figure it out, Bruce! I swear we will,” he said, voice shaking. 

Bruce twisted away from Tony, one hand on his hip and the other tangled in his hair, and he paced a few steps in helpless, impotent frustration. He breathed heavily, with a high-pitched, strained noise in the back of his throat that sounded like he was using all his strength not to completely explode or lose his mind. He finally turned back toward Tony, and wrapped his arms tightly around himself. They locked gazes, and Tony had never seen so much anguish in Bruce’s eyes. Bruce’s face crumpled.

“ _NO!_ ” He screamed, doubling over. “ _IT’S NOT FUCKING FAIR!_ ” He whipped around with a guttural, broken scream of rage and violently swept everything from the surface of his worktable table, kicked over a stool, and collapsed to his knees in the middle of the room. 

“ _It’s not fucking fair,_ ” he breathed, his face in his hands as he openly wept.

Tony ran to him, sliding to his knees and wrapping Bruce’s shaking body in his arms. 

“We’ll get it, Bruce, we haven’t even done actual testing yet… this is good, it means we’re on the right track…” he tried so hard to stay strong for Bruce, but in the end he choked on his words, burying his face against Bruce’s neck as Bruce clutched helplessly at his shirt. He heard the door slam open, and all he knew was a rush of footsteps and a pair of strong arms enveloping them both, smelling of Old Spice. 

Tony looked up for a moment to see Steve’s grim face nod at him, then Thor settled on the ground beside them and put a strong hand on he and Bruce’s shoulders. Nat and Clint knelt on either side of Thor. No one needed to say anything; whatever results the rest of the team expected from the trial, it was clear to them now that it was an utter, gut-wrenching failure. Tony dissolved, crumbling inside and letting his head fall back down, and he and Bruce wept bitter, heartbroken tears, held in the protective arms of their friends. 

 

_______________________________________

 

Bruce paced the lab, manic and edgy, his fingers constantly twitching as if he didn’t know what to do with his hands.

“We have to try it again, we could get more data… just, to hell with the rest of the trials!” He rounded on Tony with pleading eyes, who slammed down his tablet for what felt like the hundredth time.

“No! Goddammit, Bruce, we don’t even know why you had that reaction, why those memories presented, why they disappeared… Jesus, we don’t know a fucking thing! I’m not gonna flip the switch back on when you passed out on a trial run on something that was supposed to be fully inactive and contained!”

“Tony, please! It works, we just… Maybe I have to be in the chamber with it, maybe-“

“Bruce, for fuck’s sake, listen to yourself! Where’s your scientific training? What happened to controlled testing and methodical research? You just want to jump right into the reactor with no idea what it does, and hope you come out alive and intact on the other side?”

“It’s worth it-“

“It’s not worth your life!”

Tony took a few deep breaths through his nose, speaking more softly this time.

“Bruce, we have to do this right. This is magic we’re talking about here, dangerous radiation… we have to know what it will do to you before we point and shoot.”

Bruce turned away from him, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“I know, it’s just… we were so close, I was almost _me_ again…”

Tony put his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, not pulling away when Bruce tensed. Since Bruce’s memories had faded, he was back to seeing himself as untouchable. Their moment together with the wall down around Bruce’s memories was brief and bittersweet, and without that love there, Tony was just another liability. Another part of normal life that Bruce wouldn’t allow himself to get close to, just in case he destroyed it.

“I know Bruce, I know. We’ll get it. Maybe-“ he pulled at Bruce’s arm, turning him. “Maybe we should take a break, take a few days-“

“No!” Bruce said sharply, cutting him off. “I don’t want to wait, I want my life back.”

Tony nodded, then picked up his tablet and pushed it firmly into Bruce’s hands. 

“Fine, then we need to work. And we’re doing it right.”

So they did, carefully analyzing every scan, every sensor, every minute piece of data they gathered. Tony worked with grim determination, refusing to accept any outcome that didn’t include fully restoring Bruce’s memories. Bruce on the other hand, grew more and more quiet and drawn, and Tony watched him surreptitiously as they worked, wanting to kiss away the tightness around his eyes and smooth the deep furrow between his brows. He knew this dark pit, and could see Bruce quietly falling.

“C’mon, talk to me, I know you’re thinking something,” he said, spinning Bruce’s stool around so they faced each other, interrupting Bruce’s very intent staring at nothing. Bruce scowled at him without heat.

“I’m not-“ he rubbed at his forehead for a moment. “I was just wondering if the Other Guy- what if I turned, and _then_ we used the pulse?” 

Tony sat across from him and scratched absently at his goatee.

“Well, I mean, I guess whatever physiological effects are caused by the RT would be minimized if it were aimed at Hulk instead of you, but don’t you think there’s an awfully big risk of losing the memories entirely? Just- Thor said that they’re still tethered to you, but if you blast yourself while you’re Hulk, what if they won’t have a body to return to?”

Bruce rubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, grimacing.

“Yeah, that- I guess that makes sense.”

“Besides, we already ruled out you changing. We don’t know if you’ll lose any more memories from between now and the accident. I just don’t think it’s worth the risk.”

Tony crossed his arms and frowned at Bruce, who blearily pinched the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut.

“But that doesn’t mean that-“ Bruce made a small, frustrated sound. “I don’t know, all this magic stuff- I don’t feel like I’m thinking very clearly.”

Tony sighed. Of course he wasn’t. God, it was like looking into a fucking mirror. He set his papers to the side and stood up.

“You need to get away from this for a while.” He pointed a stern finger at Bruce. “And don’t even think about arguing, neither of us is going to figure anything out if all we’re doing is spinning our tires. Let’s go.”

He grabbed Bruce’s wrist and drug him to the elevator, ignoring his protests as he jabbed the button to take them down to the workshop. 

“I feel like I could eat some pasta, how about you? Something nice and artery-clogging. Jarvis, order us some food, will you? Some spinach cannelloni with alfredo and a big plate of lasagna with extra ricotta, and-“ he turned to Bruce. “What do you want?”

Bruce looked mildly uncomfortable for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Uh… I suppose some of that pumpkin ravioli that you ordered that one time would be nice,” he said softly. “Oh, and garlic bread?

“Add it to the list, J. And something for dessert. I don’t know, a big-ass pan of tiramisu?” He licked his lips and grinned. “Ah, I’m gonna fucking explode, it’ll be amazing.”

Bruce looked down at his hands and huffed a small laugh.

“You know you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what? Order food? I mean, if you don’t value your gastrointestinal integrity, I could cook, but I think we’ve pretty well established that-“ 

“No, I mean with the whole distracting me thing.” Bruce looked up at Tony. “I’m fine.” Tony punched the elevator hold button and turned to Bruce fully, dropping his rather forced cheerfulness and giving Bruce a skeptical look.

“No, you’re not. Ever since the first trial run, you’ve been sinking further and further downward, and-“

“I have not!” Bruce interjected. Tony gestured sharply and spoke over him.

“-and I know exactly where that path leads, and I’ll be damned if I’m just going to sit by and let you fall the same way I did.” He gripped Bruce by both shoulders. “I know, Bruce. I really do. Please believe me.”

Bruce lowered his head but said nothing, studying his hands as he laced and unlaced his fingers anxiously. Tony squeezed his shoulders reassuringly and waited patiently. Bruce took a deep breath, still staring at his hands.

“Tony, it’s just that… When I kissed you, it was while I remembered what we used to have together. I can’t remember that now, and it’s killing me, because I still remember how I felt when we kissed, and it’s just been so long… and I want that again. With you.”

Tony’s breath stuck in his throat and he frowned slightly. 

“Bruce, what are you saying? That you _want me_ want me?” he whispered. 

Bruce shook his head, cheeks growing pinker.

“No… I- I don’t know. I just… I haven’t had anyone touch me like that in years, and I can’t… It’s all I can think about now, and we used to have that together, and I’m scared that I’ll never have that again, and I want that to be part of my life so bad it hurts…” 

Tony closed his eyes and sighed as Bruce’s pained voice trailed off, then pulled Bruce into his arms and held him warm and tight.

“It’s okay, you’ll get better, it’s just gonna take a little while longer, but we’ll-“

Bruce stiffened, getting his hands on Tony’s upper arms and pushing him away.

“Don’t.”

“Bruce, goddammit, you can get a fucking hug without Hulking out.”

Bruce looked at him sadly.

“I can’t.”

“ _You can_. Look, I’m not going to force something to happen between us, just because we have a history. I don’t want you to think that you owe me anything. But you can fucking touch people, okay? You’re not a pariah, or a monster, or whatever other string of hate you’ve been telling yourself over and over for damn near a decade.”

Bruce’s jaw worked as he studied his hands once more. Tony tipped his chin up. 

“You’re allowed to want comfort. This has been really fucking shitty. Sometimes I just want to crawl into someone’s lap and hide my face, and goddammit if I don’t sound like a little diva princess saying that out loud, but it’s true.”

A corner of Bruce’s lip pulled up, but he quickly sobered again and sighed. 

“I don’t know how to control myself.”

Tony smiled at him softly.

“Then start slow. How about this?”

Tony reached down and took one of Bruce’s hands, lacing their fingers together, and held it gently. Bruce stared at their hands for nearly a full minute, before swallowing hard, tightening his fingers just a little, and nodding.

“Yeah… okay.” He whispered, with a very small smile. 

Tony nodded back, his own heart pounding. This was… well to be honest, this was probably a really fucking bad idea. Everything he felt for Bruce was stripped raw and magnified in an instant, when they kissed again. He wanted Bruce… God, he wanted him, wanted their life back. But they were essentially no better off than before the trial run of the device, except now they were both sharply reminded of what they’d been missing, and the solution was still just as out of their reach as before. He took a deep breath and told himself that it was just about comfort, that it was normal to crave affection when times were hard. Yeah. He’d stick with that for now. Tony pulled Bruce over to the couch in the workshop, looking around momentarily for the paperclip robot.

“Here, I made this little guy right after the accident,” he said, depositing the little robot into Bruce’s lap. “I haven’t named him yet, you want the honors?”

Bruce chuckled, holding his finger out so the little bot could hold it with his paperclip claws, still tightly holding Tony’s hand with the other hand. 

“I’m not great with names, I’d probably just name him something stupid, like Clippy…”

Tony rolled his eyes.

“Right, and Dummy and U are divinely inspired.” Tony grinned as Bruce jumped a bit, Dummy and U rolling close to pluck at his shirt and nudge him with their robotic heads. Tony laughed. “Look, they missed you. C’mon, leave him alone, you guys are more pathetic than needy cats!” 

Bruce patted each of them with a look of impressed wonder on his face, poking them gently and asking a hundred questions about their construction and operating systems and personalities until Tony groaned theatrically. 

“Jesus Banner, let’s save the programming lecture for another day, yeah?” He groped on the coffee table for a piece of paper and wadded it up, throwing it across the room. “Hey! Go find it, you overgrown blenders,” he muttered affectionately, as Dummy, U, and the paperclip robot all scuttled after it. He settled back, pulling up a mindless comedy on the TV, only letting go of Bruce to retrieve their food. It felt good to do this again, laughing at the stupidity on the screen and forgetting the weight that pressed down on his chest. Stuffing himself with garbage and dicking around with his robots. Touching Bruce.

When they were done eating, Tony reclined sleepily, patting his belly.

“That was exactly what I fucking needed. Get enough?” he asked, tilting his head up to peer at Bruce. Bruce looked down at him with a soft smile and reclined as well, hesitantly reaching for Tony’s hand again, lacing their fingertips together.

“I did, thanks.”

“Good.” Tony watched the TV a little while longer, before slowly moving so he could lean against Bruce’s side, and rest his head on Bruce’s shoulder. He closed his eyes and sighed. 

“This okay?” he whispered.

Tony held his breath during the long pause that followed.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Tony smiled to himself, letting himself relax and melt into Bruce’s side, holding his hand tightly and savoring how normal this felt. They were so close to having this again, that it made his insides twist with a desperate need. Part of his mind told him that this was a terrible fucking idea, and all they were doing was torturing themselves, but another, louder part was telling him that it was normal and okay, and that they needed this from each other. 

He swallowed hard when he thought about a time shortly after the accident, when he did just this; pretending that they were just Tony and Bruce again, and how all it did was make everything worse. This was different, he told himself as he drifted off. It was for Bruce this time. It was always for Bruce.

 

________________________________________

 

Tony’s soft snores woke Bruce from his absent staring at the muted TV, drawing his gaze to Tony’s face, half buried against his arm, completely asleep. Bruce smiled just a little at the comforting warmth against his side, the tangle of their fingers, how utterly serene and peaceful Tony’s face was; but his smile faded when he thought about the hurt in Tony’s eyes when he was awake. All the pain that he was living through, hiding, fighting; all for him. Bruce watched Tony sleep for a long time, trying to keep himself together, stay strong against the crippling anxiety and breathtaking anger in his chest. He shifted a little, nudging Tony.

“Tony,” he murmured. “You awake?”

No response.

“Tony?”

Tony pressed his face a little harder into Bruce’s arm, and continued to snore.

Bruce swallowed hard.

“Jarvis?” he asked softly.

“Yes, Doctor Banner?”

“Are the emergency override protocols still in Captain Roger’s and my names?”

“They are, Doctor. Would you like me to reinstate them to Mr. Stark at this time?”

“Not just yet.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

He watched Tony a little while longer, his jaw working as he thought hard.

“Jarvis, inform me privately next time Captain Rogers is out of the building.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

Bruce bit his lip.

“And please don’t tell anyone we had this conversation.”

“Of course, Doctor.”

Bruce sighed, worrying his lip for a long moment, before leaning down and pressing a very soft, tender kiss on Tony’s temple.

“Thanks,” he whispered, not sure for whom it was meant.


	12. Chapter 12

“So what, you’re saying that they’re like a rubber band? Stretching just far enough back for Bruce to remember, then snapping out again?”

“Aye, I suppose that would be an appropriate comparison.”

“So why didn’t they stick? Why was it only a few memories?”

“Perhaps because the manner of the testing; such a meager portion of the device’s true potential would surely not be enough to both retrieve and contain all the memories?”

Bruce paced while Tony and Thor talked, shooting questions at each other rapid-fire, both of them working around a large holographic model of the RT. Tony watched from the corner of his eye as Bruce circled them, noticing the way Bruce looked at the holographic model almost hungrily, as if he were memorizing every curve, every molecule of the device that was supposed to make him whole again. 

“So we need to test it again at a higher power,” Bruce said, his voice tight, eyes avoiding Tony’s. 

“No,” Tony and Thor said together. Tony Turned to Bruce, leaning to the side to insert himself into Bruce’s line of sight. 

“I’ve arranged with SHIELD to use a secure testing facility they have in rural northern Canada. It’s an underground, completely sealed vacuum chamber. We absolutely can’t continue testing until we have a safer place to do it, where you’re not going to get zapped like a bug,” Tony said firmly. Thor nodded in agreement, his hands still a quickly-moving blur inside the holographic model.

“Indeed, not all avenues of magic are to be harnessed and controlled as I might do so with the lightning. The facilities available to us here are not adequate to shield us from the tempest of power which we seek to tame.”

Bruce let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling in an obvious display of exasperation. 

“Okay, okay, I get it. No more testing.”

Tony reached for his hand, and Bruce gripped it tightly when their fingertips touched. It was the smallest comfort Bruce allowed himself, and Tony made sure to offer it as much as possible, needing it just as much for himself as for Bruce. 

“Not until we can do it with you safe. We still need to measure the radiation collective and focus the aperture of the pulse vortex, so you’re hit with the memories, and not with the full brunt of the Unibeam.” Bruce sighed, and looked back at Tony.

“Okay. When do we leave?”

Thor finished what he was doing and spun the hologram in the air with a flourish, turning to them with a beaming smile. 

“I believe our modifications to be sound. As soon as they are complete, we may proceed northward. Perhaps in as little as two weeks.” He smiled even wider as he regarded Bruce. “And my fairest Lady Jane has secured leave from her duties, and shall be joining us for the duration of our project. Her expertise combined with ours could mean certain victory, my friends!” He clapped them both enthusiastically on the shoulders, before gathering a pile of his notes and striding for the door. 

“I shall inform the others that tonight, we celebrate!” Thor left the room and took his blustering, beaming sunshine with him. His sunniness at the prospect of seeing Jane cast a warm glow on everyone he was near, and it made Tony smile to see him so happy. However, as soon as Thor left, the dim greyness that he and Bruce carried with them quickly spread its icy, unsympathetic pallor across the room. Bruce dropped Tony’s hand and moved to inspect the modifications more closely, his spine curved heavily and his shoulders slumped downward. Tony watched him with concern, Bruce’s entire body seeming to hang in miserable defeat. 

“Shall we get started?” Bruce asked with a heavy sigh, turning towards Tony and gesturing to the RT, which still rested on its pedestal in the isolation chamber. 

“After you, Doc,” Tony said, gesturing as well. Bruce just rolled his eyes with a very small smile, and they set to work on the modifications, already having torn the RT apart before Natasha came to the lab to drag them away to the penthouse.

“I swear I’ll put a knee in your carotids until you both pass out, and carry you upstairs,” she threatened, pulling them each by a wrist as they protested like children and scrambled one-handed to scratch out one more note or move one more wire.

“Dammit, Nat! We’re on a roll here,” Tony huffed, giving in and throwing his pencil over his shoulder to the worktable. 

“Too bad. Mandatory recreation, Cap’s orders.”

Bruce set his mouth in a thin line, narrowing his eyes at Natasha as his back bowed downward in resignation.

“This isn’t summer camp, Agent Romanov.”

Natasha raised the hand that held Bruce’s wrist, extending a finger to point at his face.

“Nat or Natasha, don’t make me tell you again. And if you have a problem with tonight’s scheduled activities, you’ll have to take it up with the camp counselor,” she said with a small smile and a sardonic tone, not releasing their wrists until they were in the elevator. “Thor said you’re close to being able to resume testing. Cap wanted to celebrate a little.”

Tony rolled his eyes, but Bruce scowled, his expression dark in the reflection of the elevator doors. 

“We’d be a lot closer if we didn’t keep getting interrupted…” he muttered sourly.

Tony lightly slapped his upper arm, even though he couldn’t agree more.

“C’mon, Green Bean. It won’t kill you to socialize with the rest of civilized society for a few hours.”

Bruce pushed Tony’s arm away roughly.

“ _Don’t call me that!_ ” he snapped, glaring at Tony and Natasha with a defiant jut to his jaw. The atmosphere in the elevator quickly grew tense and cool; Natasha arched a brow and Tony shoved his hands in his pocket a little rougher than necessary, clenching his jaw to mask the hurt in his eyes.

“Whatever you say, Doc,” he muttered back, and slipped through the elevator doors as they were opening, leaving the tension behind him unresolved. Jesus, the man was becoming more like a light switch every day, switching between manic hysteria and irrational anger in a matter of seconds; he could only hope a little time away from the lab would lighten Bruce’s mood. 

Tony sighed, stalking into the kitchen; the counter was piled high with an enormous feast of nearly every type of food imaginable, including what looked like an entire platter of buffalo wings, a stacked pyramid of pad Thai cartons, and a pile of what had to be ten pounds of bacon. He reached sullenly for some of the bacon. It was just stress, he told himself. They were all stressed, and they all dealt with it differently. He leaned a hip against the counter as he chewed, still staring absently at the pile of bacon.

“Thor tells me you’re making progress?” 

Tony jumped, looking up at Steve with wide, surprised eyes.

“Oh. Yeah, yeah… it looks like all the simulations are operating as expected, we’re already working on the mods to bring the RT up to full power capabilities,” he said mechanically. Steve nodded as he spoke, reaching for a plate of tomatoes, quickly fixing himself seven or eight BLT sandwiches. He ate the first one in nearly two bites.

“We’d all like to come to the testing facility when you’re ready to leave,” he said between bites. Tony’s face softened a bit; it was a nice gesture. He just hoped they’d be there to help him and Bruce celebrate, not mourn.

“Yeah Steve, that’d be nice. Thanks.” 

Steve clasped one of Tony’s shoulders, then pulled him into a somewhat clumsy one-armed hug while he balanced his plate of sandwiches with the other.

“Just keep looking up,” he murmured, then pushed a sandwich into Tony’s hands. “Here, eat. Clint’s setting up in the living room for a poker game. You in? Currency for the night is full-size candy bars and packs of Sweet Tarts.” He made a face. “And Clint said IOU’s for sexual favors, but I used veto power on that one, sorry.”

Tony actually laughed at that, imagining Clint enthusiastically trying to persuade Steve to go along with it and Steve blushing furiously, even though he was certainly no virginal maiden. Obviously the last two times the evening degraded into drunken strip poker made a rather lasting impression on their Captain that he didn’t care to repeat. Tony patted Steve’s large shoulder.

“I’m in, just give me some time to eat something first.”

“Sure, see you in there,” Steve said with his usual all-American grin. After he left, Tony finished his sandwich, slid onto a barstool, and sighed, leaning over to rest his forehead on the countertop. His hands pressed into the cool, hard granite, and he scratched his fingertips restlessly against the smooth, flawless finish. He slumped there for a long time with a cold pit in his stomach, thinking about Bruce. Thinking about how he seemed to be stretched tighter than one of Clint’s bowstrings, practically vibrating with his struggle to not lose his shit. Thinking about how he grew increasingly snappish and moody. Thinking about-

“Tony.”

Tony whipped his head up and twisted around, to see Bruce standing by the far edge of the counter, holding a paper napkin that he was distractedly shredding into small bits.

“Yeah. Bruce. Did you get some food? There’s curry…” 

Bruce stepped closer to him, looking down at the mangled paper in his hand as if he just realized it was there. He wadded it up and slid it onto the counter, not quite meeting Tony’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m just- I don’t like the waiting. I’m ready to be normal again.”

Bruce’s voice still had a sharp, brittle edge to it. Tony could tell that screwing around up here was the last thing Bruce wanted to do, and to be honest, he wasn’t feeling too excited about it, either. 

“Don’t worry about it. Here.” Tony reached across the table for the curry, and pushed it at Bruce. “The sooner we eat and jump through the hoops, the sooner we can get back to work.”

Bruce nodded and sat on the stool next to his, pulled the plate to him and ate with uncharacteristic slowness, poking the food listlessly with the fork after only a few bites. Tony chewed on another piece of bacon, until Bruce abruptly pushed the plate away and stood.

“Let’s go. They’re probably waiting,” he muttered, and turned sharply for the living room. Tony watched him go, all stiff muscles and clenched fists, and followed shortly after. 

He fully expected a few short, tense rounds, before Bruce pretended to go to the bathroom and snuck back to the lab instead. But to his surprise, they all actually enjoyed playing, even if Bruce was unusually quiet and his laughs were a little forced. Tony, Bruce, and Thor quickly lost all their candy, while Nat, Clint, and Steve engaged in a black-ops-worthy game of intense suspicion and dubious house rules, until they managed to peel away each of their tells and ended up betting in circles with none of them able to pull ahead enough to win. The game dissolved into laughter and wild accusations of using spy training to cheat, and Steve and Nat divvied up their candy with the others while Clint hoarded his winnings with blood in his eyes.

Eventually they found themselves lounging on the sofa in front of a movie, Thor spread hugely on the floor with Nat reclining against his side as if he were a large, blonde floor cushion. Tony kept thinking he should get back to the lab, even as he woke several hours later with a start from a sleep he didn’t realize he had fallen into. He cracked open his eyes, surprised to find that the only light in the room shone from his chest, Bruce was slumped against his side with his glasses askew and mouth hanging slack, and someone had spread a blanket over their laps. Tony looked down at Bruce’s face, somehow still worried and strained, even in sleep. He ached, wishing he could make it right for Bruce, that he could erase all the uncertainty that dimmed their hopes about resuming testing procedures. 

Tony reached down and pulled Bruce’s glasses off, setting them gently aside, then rested his cheek against Bruce’s unruly curls and closed his eyes. They’ll be one step closer tomorrow, he told himself as he tangled his fingers with Bruce’s and pressed back against his warmth. He just had to get Bruce to be patient. 

 

________________________________

 

When Tony woke in the morning, he had a raging crick in his neck and dry mouth like he hadn’t had since college. The couch next to him was cold and empty, but a sticky note on the cushion caught his eye.

_Tony, went to the lab early. –B_

After an obscenely long shower, at least two pots of coffee, and a handful of leftover bacon, Tony eventually made his way to the lab with a box of pastries and a mug of tea for Bruce. However, he paused in the door when he saw that Bruce still wore his clothes from yesterday, the shadows under his eyes as dark as bruises and his hair starting to look more than a little unruly. 

“How long did you sleep?” he asked, putting the pastries at Bruce’s elbow and setting the mug where he was sure to smell the spicy aroma. Bruce barely glanced up.

“A few hours, why?”

“You look like you could use a few more.”

Bruce quirked a corner of his mouth in a humorless smirk.

“Worky-work, busy bee.”

Tony watched him for a while as he obsessed almost frantically over the RT, his hands moving swift and sure as he worked, despite his lack of sleep. Tony nudged the food closer.

“Take a break. Eat.”

Bruce didn’t even look up this time, back to a state of complete absorption in his work. 

“Yeah, I will. Just want to finish this part…” he muttered, making no indication that he planned to stop. Tony returned to his part of the worktable, pursing his lips and feeling cold inside when Bruce’s food went uneaten.

He did his best to drag Bruce away from the lab in the evenings over the next week, but whether they went to their own rooms or fell asleep on the couch together, Bruce was always the first to the lab by several hours, working feverishly to rebuild the modified RT before Tony woke. More often than not in the same clothes he fell asleep in and having not had anything to eat or drink yet. 

Tony thought about that as sat at his workstation with a holographic projection of the vortex aperture, making tiny, precise adjustments to the device in his hand. He scrutinized Bruce as he worked with the same sharp engineer’s eye that he used on his machines. Was he losing weight? Or was it just the way that shirt hung off his shoulders like clothes on a hanger? When _was_ the last time he had an actual, full meal? Tony was uncomfortably reminded how familiar this all felt, as he uneasily chewed the inside of his cheek and made final, minute adjustments to the aperture. 

A soft ping from across the room drew Tony’s attention, and he looked up just in time to see Bruce stiffen, then hastily sweep away a notification on his screen.

“What was that?”

“Uh… nothing. Just a reminder about some of the testing parameters that I didn’t want to forget.”

“Oh.”

They worked in silence a while longer. However, Bruce seemed to grow more and more unsettled; he shuffled a little more noticeably, rubbed his neck and polished his glasses a little more often, and chewed on his thumbnail until even from across the room, Tony could see a little line of red, irritated skin where he’d bitten it down to the quick.

“What’s up with you?”

Bruce jumped, startled from his intent staring into space. He turned to Tony with a small, obviously fake smile.

“Nothing, just working through some calculations.”

“Right.” Tony brushed aside his holographic interface and walked to Bruce, leaning a little against his side and crossing his arms. “You wanna tell me what’s going on then? I can play this game all day.”

Bruce huffed a little laugh and pulled off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he leaned back against Tony.

“Just a little anxious, you know? Lots of things to worry about,” he murmured. He raised his thumbnail back to his mouth absently, and Tony reached out and gently took his wrist, pulling it away. He smoothed his hand over Bruce’s, careful not to aggravate the inflamed skin on Bruce’s fingertips. 

“Yeah, I know.”

Bruce quietly let Tony hold his hand, but his other hand still twisted nervously in the fabric of his pants, his knuckles white against the fabric. His jaw worked, and Tony could practically see the neurons firing behind his eyes, lost in a hundred-mile stare. When he finally did look back up at Tony, Bruce had the haunted look of someone who battled a mighty internal struggle, one that was tearing him apart inside.

“Tony, would you mind doing me a favor?”

“Sure, what do you need? Is everything okay?”

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck again.

“There’s a stack of papers in my room that I made a bunch of notes on; it looks like I’m going to need them sooner than I thought. I’m working through a long string of calculations here and don’t want to get distracted, would you mind grabbing them for me?” He looked at Tony beseechingly. Tony rolled his eyes and chuckled.

“Yeah, I can do that. Jesus, the way you asked, I thought you were going to ask me to cut off my own head or something.”

A smile pulled at the corner of Bruce’s mouth, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I can hardly imagine you’d think I could be so melodramatic,” he said sardonically.

Tony nudged him affectionately and turned, minimizing his holographic display on his way to the door.

“I’ve made a career of melodrama, I think I can recognize the potential in other-“

“Tony, wait.”

Tony arched a brow when he turned at the interruption; Bruce stood by his worktable, twisting the hem of his shirt nervously in his hands, eyes looking everywhere but at Tony and cheeks a deep pink. The moody, snappish, laser-focused demeanor that bristled around him recently seemed to have fallen away, replaced with something different. Something self-conscious, uncertain; maybe even a little hopeful. 

“Something on your mind, Big Guy?” 

“Yeah.”

Bruce inhaled deeply and walked calmly toward him, and Tony’s heartbeat doubled when Bruce stepped into his personal space with deliberate slowness. With only a few inches between them, Tony swallowed hard against the pulse hammering in his throat. This was… not quite how he pictured the day unfolding. Bruce looked at him with a penetrating, intense gaze, almost as if he were stripping Tony’s masks away to openly drink in his soft, naked vulnerability hidden beneath so many layers of biting sarcasm and inflated ego. Tony almost felt indecently exposed, with his weakest parts unguarded and displayed like this before Bruce, but he couldn’t look away. They stood like that for a long time, heat radiating across the scant space between their bodies, close enough that Tony could smell Bruce’s soap and see the smattering of silver hairs in his stubble. 

Bruce reached hesitantly to where Tony’s hands hung by his side, and laced his fingertips with Tony’s, stepping forward to close the inches between them. Tony’s breath hitched in his chest when their bodies touched, the air around them hanging dense, silent, charged with electricity.

“Bruce, what-“

Whatever words were on Tony’s tongue were cut off when Bruce leaned in and pressed his lips against Tony’s with almost unfathomable gentleness. All Tony could do was stand there motionless, dazed. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, breathing the warmth of Bruce’s air, savoring the way their lips moved together. It was soft, and sweet, and chaste, and so heavy with emotion that Tony was nearly overwhelmed by it. 

Bruce kissed him like it was the first and last time he would ever be able to do so, and it stole Tony’s breath right from his lungs. This was nothing like their frantic, needy kiss during the brief moments when Bruce was reunited with his memories. They didn’t clutch or grope blindly at each other, or force their tongues into each other’s mouths, but stood quiet and still with their bodies pressed close and hands still at Tony’s side, their fingers gently woven together, and they utterly, sensually, consumed each other. 

When both of them were breathless and flushed, Bruce pulled back mere millimeters, just enough that they could see each other’s eyes. Tony looked at him, looked _into_ him; Bruce’s brow was still furrowed and the corners of his eyes tight, even his soft smile was shadowed by sadness. He carried a desolate, black weight in his eyes that made Tony ache for him all the way to the ends of his hair. Bruce licked his lips, still shining and pink.

“Thank you. For everything,” he breathed. Tony tightened his fingers against Bruce’s.

“You’re, ah…. You’re welcome.” He frowned at Bruce’s unhappy eyes. “And, uh… what exactly did I do to earn such a warm thank you?”

Bruce lowered his gaze, smiling that small, sad smile that made Tony’s heart clench.

“Nothing. Just… being you.”

Tony remembered a time when Bruce used to say those words to him all the time, when Bruce wrapped his hands warm and tight around Tony’s waist and kissed his shoulder while he worked on the suit, or had Dummy deliver little gifts that he thought Tony might like, or learned how to make his favorite comfort food and always seemed to know when Tony needed it… Tony always asked why he did it, and Bruce always smiled adoringly and said it was just for being him, being Tony. He wanted to tell Bruce about each one of those little moments, how deeply his words fed a part of Tony’s spirit that had been left to starve nearly his whole life. 

But something about the way Bruce looked at him, the unexpected intimacy of their embrace that sharply contrasted with their casual shoulder-touching and restrained hand-holding, the way Bruce kissed him like it might be the last thing he’d ever do… it made Tony’s gut turn to ice. This just… there wasn’t anything right about this, no matter how much he wanted for it to be.

“Bruce, I feel like you’re trying to tell me something,” he whispered.

Bruce didn’t look up.

“It’s just a thank you kiss, Tony.”

“I have to say, that’s a little out of character for you.”

Tony couldn’t be more aware of the heat between them, of Bruce’s subtle, agitated twitches. How he swallowed hard before he spoke. How one of his fingers tapped a soft, nervous staccato against Tony’s palm. Bruce finally looked up, a tight smile on his thinned lips, eyes masking something.

“Sorry, I just keep thinking about those calculations.” He pulled away, the cool rush of air in the space between them shattering the hypnotic haze of the room and letting cold reality douse them both. “The papers?” he asked hopefully, gesturing upward to indicate the penthouse.

Tony watched him carefully for a few moments, as Bruce settled back down at his workspace. This was not the end of this conversation.

“Right. Fine, I can tell a brush-off when I see one.” He pointed a finger at Bruce. “I’ll get your papers, but don’t think you’re getting out of anything, because I intend to have a very long, sublimely awkward, and deeply uncomfortable conversation with you when I get back, so gird your loins.”

Bruce chuckled darkly.

“I’d expect nothing less.”

Tony pulled the lab door shut behind him, chewing his lip over what the hell just happened as he made his way to the elevator.

 

_____________________________

 

Bruce waited until he heard the distant hiss of the elevator doors closing, then looked up at the empty lab and exhaled the breath he’d been holding. He swiped at his screen until he pulled up the notification from earlier.

_[Doctor Banner: Captain Rogers, Mr. Odinson, and Agents Barton and Romanov have been called away from Stark Tower for a regularly-scheduled meeting with Director Fury. I expect they will be absent for the duration of the day. –Jarvis]_

Bruce nervously laced and unlaced his fingers as studied the message, unconsciously holding his breath again, before standing abruptly. Quickly gathering several items, he walked into the lab space adjacent to the isolation chamber where they tested the prototype, separated from the rest of the lab by a thick glass wall. He set the items in his hands- the glowing RT chamber and the small, round, silver vortex aperture that Tony was working on- on the workbench in front of him, and looked at them intently. With a small sigh and a furtive look back over his shoulder at the elevator bank, he bent over the table to hurriedly reassemble the pieces, making quick, but accurate adjustments as he worked.

He finished before Tony returned, the modifications that they all worked on committed to memory from his many solitary hours spent studying them in the lab. He held the RT up grimly, the bright light changing his soft, hazel eyes to brittle, icy blue. This was it. This little star, this little piece of Tony’s heart, of his mind, was what was going to fix him. Or kill him. How apropos, he thought miserably; he rather felt the same way about Tony. How everything about him made Bruce feel like he was drowning, and how he couldn’t tell if he wanted to be pulled under or not. 

He hugged the RT close when he felt his chest constrict, the light muffled in the folds of his shirt and his heart beating hard and fast against the metal. This was a bad idea, he thought; an extraordinarily, stupidly, irresponsibly, testing-gamma-radiation-on-yourself, potentially-kill-everyone-you’ve-ever-loved, very bad idea. Every ounce of scientific training in him railed against this, but… Well, he never was very good at suppressing that unstable, reckless side of himself that always managed to come out and ruin everything at the worst possible time. He supposed the Other Guy wouldn’t have become such a monster if it weren’t already a part of him to begin with. 

Bruce’s breath choked in his throat, his nail beds white from gripping the RT so tightly. He couldn’t… he tried so hard, he really did. But he had to do this, he couldn’t drag it out for weeks or months, or… _or years_ , seeing Tony’s heartbroken and hopeful eyes every day in the lab, sinking deeper inside the crazy in his own mind because he couldn’t reconcile how much he had lost and couldn’t imagine how he could begin again. Either this worked, or he reverted to a time when he never knew Tony, or… 

He closed his eyes and gently touched his fingertips to his lips, still warmed from Tony’s touch, the scent of Tony’s luxurious cologne and metal shavings and engine grease still clinging to him, like fleeting tendrils of smoke that quickly swirled away with the breeze. Bruce took several steeling breaths, memorizing every nuance of that scent, every inflection of Tony’s voice, every gentle touch of Tony’s calloused fingers and soft lips against his own, writing the memory on the walls of his heart. Just in case; just so he had it in there, deep inside; in case this all went wrong, and someday, when he was hungry and alone and hunted again, he could lose himself for a little while inside the memory of a life he couldn’t have, and remember how it felt to have someone _care_ about him. To have someone _want_ to touch him. 

Bruce bit his lip; he could feel himself unraveling. This _had_ to work, or there wouldn’t be anything left of him for Tony to fix. He opened his eyes determinedly, dropped his hand from his lips and clenched his fist, still cradling the RT to his chest.

“Jarvis,” he said in a clear, steady voice that surprised even him.

“Yes, Doctor Banner?”

“Initiate override lockdown protocols. I don’t want anyone stepping foot in this room. Especially not Tony.”

“Of course, Doctor.” Jarvis paused momentarily, as if battling a programming conflict. “May I ask your reasons why?”

Bruce’s face hardened.

“No.”

He took a deep breath and set his jaw before he could change his mind, then stepped into the isolation chamber, locking the door behind him with a loud, ominous clang.


	13. Chapter 13

Tony wanted so badly to believe that there was _something_ in that kiss. It was too much how it used to be, for it to have just been… nothing. Bruce had to be up to something. That was the only logical explanation. Although he hadn’t exactly been acting logically recently, either. Maybe… Tony huffed out a frustrated gust of air. Don’t read into it. He’s unstable, he’s emotionally compromised, he’s hiding something… Tony pinched the bridge of his nose as he stepped off the elevator into the penthouse and argued with himself absently right up until he set foot in Bruce’s room, then looked around and froze.

“Goddammit, Banner,” he murmured, frowning at the stacks upon stacks of papers all over the room. Tony hadn’t the first clue as to which ones were the calculations that Bruce wanted. He sat on the unmade side of the bed where Bruce slept, shifting a few stacks on the bedside table and picking up the nearest pile. Aperture settings, pulse frequency calculations, ionic displacement… these seemed to be close enough to what they were currently working on, so after sifting through a couple more stacks just to be sure, Tony tucked them under his arm, headed to the kitchen. 

Rubbing hard at his eyes, he slid the papers hastily on the counter and pulled out stuff to make a pot of much needed, blacker-than-tar coffee. He leaned heavily against the counter and licked his lips while he waited for the coffee to brew, thinking about the kiss. Jesus, his lips even still felt hot. Tony turned over every warm movement, every soft breath, every gentle word of Bruce’s in his mind, reliving each moment of the kiss, analyzing it from every angle. That hollow look in Bruce’s eyes, the tense restraint in every muscle of his body… Tony’s frown deepened, and he resolutely decided that he’d had enough of Bruce’s enigmatic behavior, and that he wasn’t going to hide anymore, goddammit. Bruce had Tony, and he would hold Bruce together all by himself, even if it was the last thing he ever did. 

Tony was already forming an argument in his head when he gathered a mug of coffee for himself and one of tea for Bruce with one hand, and scooped up his papers with the other. But he only took two steps before stopped abruptly, looking down curiously at the small rectangle that fell from the papers and onto the floor. 

He bent to pick it up, inhaling sharply and sinking slowly down on a chair when he saw it. It was the photo of he and Bruce together that used to be framed on his bedside table. The one that had a smear of blood and a splash of dried tears on the glass; the one that shattered that night when he finally gave up and let his world implode around him. And it was here, in in a stack of notes from Bruce’s room.

“Bruce…” he breathed, trailing his thumb across the image, just as he once did not too long ago. He chewed his lip again, his blood buzzing in his ear. Again with the hiding things… it was just like when Bruce first lived in the tower, how he always hid his feelings, how he never showed his real self, or shared his real thoughts on anything, even long after he and Tony became close. So what was he hiding now, besides pictures? Was he hiding feelings for Tony? How bad his struggles with the memory loss had gotten? What if he was getting low again?

Tony’s head snapped up sharply. That kiss… It _wasn’t_ just a kiss; it was too warm, too _sad_ , to just be nothing more than a gesture of thanks. It reminded Tony of how Bruce kissed him before he left for every battle, when they held each other carefully just in case it was their last time, before Tony jetted from the rooftop and Bruce stayed behind with his arms wrapped tightly around himself. 

The kiss… it felt like a kiss goodbye.

_Bruce, I feel like you’re trying to tell me something…_

Tony stood so quickly that he knocked the bar stool to the ground, the edge of the photo crumpling in his tight grip. 

“Sir, I strongly urge you to return to Doctor Banner’s laboratory immediately,” Jarvis said in clipped tones, interrupting Tony and damn near reading his thoughts. Tony left everything but the photo and jabbed the elevator button repeatedly.

“Yeah, I was just thinking the same thing,” he muttered, stomach suddenly feeling heavier than lead. He studied the picture and wiped cold sweat from his brow during the ride down, pushing his way past the elevator doors before they were even open all the way. The lab was eerily empty, and he strode through it with feigned confidence, looking for Bruce. Everything was quiet, tense, as if something was getting ready to jump out at him. 

Then he caught movement from the corner of his eye, and everything clicked into place. Bruce. Bruce was in the isolation chamber. With the door shut. He whipped his head around to his workstation. The RT was gone. He stared at the empty dock on his table for precisely three seconds, then bolted to the heavy glass doors that separated this part of the lab from the workspace adjacent to the isolation chamber, nearly knocking himself out when he crashed against the locked door.

“What the fuck?” he said, yanking on the unmoving door handle. “Jarvis, open it up!” There was a very uncomfortable pause.

“I am extremely sorry, Sir. I’m afraid I cannot do that; the emergency overrides are still in Doctor Banner and Captain Roger’s control.”

Tony released the door handle as if he’d just been burned, and narrowed his eyes. His voice was low and threatening.

“Jarvis, open this goddamned door _immediately_.”

“I am sorry, Sir.”

“Override Stark-Epsilon 227.”

“Access denied.”

“Override Stark-Alpha 198.”

“Access denied.”

“Override Stark-Alpha 7412 Omega!” Tony shouted, his face growing red and voice shaking with fury.

“I am terribly sorry, Sir. Access denied.” Jarvis sounded for all the world as contrite as a child who knew he’d done wrong, and even the timbre of his voice sounded strained, as if he were searching every loophole in his programming for an out.

“I don’t want to hear it, J. You have five seconds to get Steve on speaker, before I completely lose my fucking shit,” he growled, balling his fists at his side and watching Bruce through the thick glass wall and the isolation chamber window.

“Of course, Sir. Connecting now,” he murmured politely. The line hissed alive with the sound of Steve’s exasperated sigh.

“Tony, what is it? You know we’re meeting with Fury right now, don’t you?”

“Steve,” Tony said, his voice like lead. “You all need to get your asses right the fuck back here, _now_.”

“Tony? What is it, what happened?” All traces of exasperation were gone from Steve’s voice, now laced with worry.

“Well, nothing much really. Oh, except that Bruce tricked me into leaving the lab for a minute, and in that time has shut himself in the isolation chamber with the RT that we aren’t even sure is calibrated properly, and has _locked me out of the fucking lab using the security override codes that you so motherfucking moronically insisted that I give up, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENED!_ ” he said, his voice rising to a frenzied shout at the end.

Steve said nothing, and Tony could practically see the horror in his eyes and hear the “oh shit” running through his head in the silence that hung over the line.

“Jarvis release all command codes back to Tony!”

“I’m sorry, Captain, I am afraid I cannot do that without both you and Doctor Banner’s authorization.”

Yeah. Oh shit is right, Captain. Tony gritted his teeth, biting out his words in a low, vicious tone.

“You four had better hop your happy asses back on that quinjet and high-tail it back here like the fucking Skrull are on your back, because I don’t think I need to tell you what to expect if Bruce decides to blast himself in the chest at point-blank range with a fully-powered Unibeam with unknown radioactive channeling capabilities.”

“We’re on our way,” Steve said tersely, then paused a moment. “I’m sorry, Tony…”

“I’ll deal with you after this is taken care of,” Tony said, cutting him off and making no effort to hide the fact that he was burning with anger. “Just fucking get here.” He made a sharp gesture for Jarvis to disconnect the call, and turned abruptly for the door. “Jarvis, prep the Mark XII.” Jarvis didn’t reply immediately.

“Sir… I am afraid the suits are locked down as well, per security protocols…” he said. Tony froze, his entire body vibrating with rage and betrayal. His one goddamned moment of vulnerability, and now it was back to bite him in the fucking ass, and he didn’t even have access to his goddamned, motherfucking suits when he had a potential Code Green about to happen _less than twenty feet away_. He whirled back around to the glass doors, teeth bared.

“Goddammit, Jarvis! When this is done I don’t want to hear the sound of your voice for a _fucking week_ , got it? _Not a goddamned word!_ ” He stomped over to a supply closet, paying no heed to the crashes of glass beakers and reams of paper that he sent flying in his search, finally emerging with a 20-lb firemen’s axe from the emergency cabinet. He positioned himself in front of the doors, axe at the ready, feeling every bit as threatening as Thor and as maddened as Hulk, tense and terrified and hanging on by a very thin thread.

“Open a line to Bruce.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Tony could see Bruce’s head moving in the isolation chamber, bent over what he presumed was the RT with his back to Tony. Bruce raised his head momentarily when Jarvis addressed him, and Tony could see his shoulders slump and back bow over the table when he spoke in a resigned, sad voice.

“What do you want, Tony?” he asked. Tony tightened his grip on the axe.

“What do I- _What do you mean_ , what do I want? You trick me into leaving the lab, go behind my back to lock yourself in there with the RT, then use my own override codes against me? I can’t fucking imagine what it is I might want!”

Bruce stilled again, and sighed.

“Tony, I have to do this. I can’t wait any longer, and if it doesn’t work…” Bruce took a deep breath. “…it’ll be better that way…” he whispered. 

“Bruce! How could you even think that? We’re so close to being done with this, you’re just going to fucking throw it all away? We have no idea what that thing will do to you at full power!”

Tony could see Bruce shaking his head, his soft voice coming through clearly over the speaker. 

“You’re not going to stop me, Tony.”

Tony hefted the axe threateningly.

“I don’t need a fucking repulsor to break down every wall that stands between us, Bruce. You drop those codes, or I’ll smash my way through to you the old-fashioned way,” he growled.

Bruce finally turned and looked at Tony through several walls of glass, and Tony’s heart jumped into his throat. The look in Bruce’s eyes was that of someone who had snapped. Who had finally lost his grip and fallen into the pit. They watched each other a long moment, Bruce’s face heartbreaking and unhinged, Tony’s feral and barely-controlled.

“You have to let me do this,” Bruce whispered. “ _Please_.”

Tony said nothing, searching Bruce’s eyes, face, for any sign that he might actually stop this idiocy and come out of there. He found none. 

“No.”

Tony tightened his grip on the axe, and with a deep grunt, swung it with all his strength at the seam where the door handle met the glass. The shock of the impact went straight through his bones and reverberated deep inside his arc reactor, almost knocking the breath from his lungs. He swore at the four-inch thick, blast-resistant, polycarbonate, thermoplastic glass as the axe glanced off without leaving a single crack. Tony swung again and again; five times. Ten. Twenty. The impacts burned in his hands and his furious snarls echoed dissonantly with the ringing blows of the axe against the glass and metal. 

On the thirty-seventh blow, his hands shaking and muscles covered in a sheen of sweat, the glass finally cracked. But rather than vindictive triumph, he felt righteously pissed, once again confronted with his own feeble humanity in comparison to the rest of the team. Steve or Thor would have been through the glass in a single blow, and here Tony struggled like a fucking child to make the tiniest progress, exhausting himself in the process. He stopped to catch his breath, glaring through the cracked glass at Bruce, who darted from table to table in the isolation chamber, furtively looking at Tony with guilt and fear all over his face.

“Stop this! Just… leave me alone, Tony!” he pleaded to Tony.

Tony held his gaze, eyes hard and blazing, and swung the axe again. All he could focus on was a single pinpoint; stopping Bruce. It seemed almost trivial in a certain light; they were planning to test the device anyway, and eventually even use it on Bruce, but this was just not at all how it was supposed to be. That look in Bruce’s eyes, the fact that he was so low, so broken, and so desperate for a solution that he was willing to overlook decades of scientific training, willing to risk a Hulk incident when they had no idea if the Other Guy would even remember who Tony was…

Everything about this chilled Tony’s blood, made him panicked and anxious and frightened, teetering on the edge himself. The only thing on his mind as he swung the axe over and over again, was that Bruce needed him, and he needed Bruce to not lose his mind, or they were all fucked. 

And really, that’s what it was; people always feared the Other Guy, but it was actually Bruce who was the greater threat. His brilliant, calculating, abused mind, held together by brutal self-control and cruel restraint, so easily shattered and whipped away into uncontrollable, violent rage, ready to act upon every suppressed emotion that Bruce refused to indulge. When Bruce and Hulk had each other with their complete memories intact, it was something that they were able to handle together. But now… 

The next swing produced a satisfying crunch when the glass started to fracture. Tony kept at it, growing more and more frenzied, until one mighty swing succeeded in breaking the fiberglass axe handle, sending the axe head flipping backwards. The point of the pick edge hit Tony hard, right in the center of his arc reactor, knocking the breath right out of him and making his heart feel like it skipped three beats. He fell back hard on his ass, looking down in surprise at his arc reactor, which now had a large crack right through the casing. 

“Shit, shit, shit…” he muttered, pulling down his shirt collar to inspect the damage and pick a few pieces of glass from the casing with shaking fingers. Still glowing, internal casing only cracked… Tony brushed it off and rubbed the aching skin around the arc reactor; this would have to wait until later, Bruce was more important right now. He looked up at the glass door with renewed dread, scrambling to his feet and yelling. At Bruce, at the door, at the situation, at Steve’s stupid fucking insistence at looking out for him. 

“Goddammit, Bruce!” he shouted, before dissolving into incoherent yelling as he kicked, punched, and tore at the fractured glass with the broken axe handle and finally his hands, until he was able to weaken it enough that the tempered layers of shattered glass peeled and broke away enough for him to get through. His arms shook from the impacts, and blood covered his hands as he balled them into fists. He ran past the broken glass panel, and slammed himself against the reinforced lead door of the isolation chamber, leaving smears of blood on the thick glass and dull metal. 

“Bruce, let me in!” He yelled, voice cracking at the end, even as he did his damnedest not to break into a sob. Bruce ignored him, and Tony could see him moving quickly inside the chamber, setting up the RT on the dock and kneeling in front of it, his fingers working over the aperture. Bruce laughed; an eerie, hollow, frightening sound that made Tony’s gut turn to ice.

“Tony, I’m not going to wait around while you and Thor just sit here on the solution to all this, and tell me ‘no’ over and over!”

“That’s not- Bruce, you need to fucking step away from this, you’re not making rational decisions!” Tony raked his fingers through his hair helplessly, pacing and scattering pebbles of broken glass across the floor. “Jarvis! Use the goddamned brain I programmed you with, and _look!_ Look at the situation! You have authorization to override control if he’s compromised, and _he’s fucking compromised, you damn bucket of wires!_ Release the fucking security overrides back to me!”

“I am… I am terribly sorry, Sir. Your set parameters that enable me to override command protocols are quite specific, and I am afraid Doctor Banner has not yet met all of them. I am unable to release control at this time.”

Tony screamed in incoherent anger at Jarvis and Bruce, slamming his hands against the door in rage. He could feel himself snapping; not only at the fear of what Bruce was about to risk, but at the fact that Bruce was far enough gone that he was willing to try. Bruce just kept working, laughing that same, chilling laugh.

“I don’t know, Tony, it doesn’t sound to me like I’m the one being irrational here. Are you listening to yourself?” Bruce finally stood and walked to the window of the heavy door, looking out at Tony with an upsettingly detached expression. “You’re going to break your hand if you keep on with that,” he said simply, the dichotomy of the mundane words contrasting with the peril of the situation.

Tony punched at the glass again out of frustration, the sharp, stabbing pains in his knuckles telling him it was probably a little too late. He looked at Bruce desperately, their faces only inches apart and separated by a single layer of thick glass. 

“Bruce, please. This isn’t safe, and you know it. You hit yourself with that thing at full power- you know how many people are in this building right now? What if you Hulk out? What if he doesn’t know where he is, and it’s Harlem all over again?”

Bruce stepped back from the glass and frowned faintly. 

“I- I don’t care.”

Tony almost punched the air triumphantly. That got through to him. 

“Yeah, you do. You’ve spent this whole time focused on fixing yourself because you seem to think that getting your memories back is going to cure your monster problem. You’re just… God, you’re just so fucking focused on that one thing that you’re forgetting about what you’re risking!”

“No, that’s-“ Bruce’s face clouded with anger. “I don’t want to be like this anymore, Tony! If it works, then I get to be normal again, and if it kills me, then I don’t have to suffer any more!” He pulled at his hair helplessly, pacing the room like a caged panther. “I’d- I’d rather be dead than live like this!”

Tony stumbled back, stricken; he felt like Bruce’s words were a gunshot straight through his arc reactor, and knocked all the life out of his body. 

“Bruce? You don’t mean that…” He whispered, face pale. Bruce wrapped his arms around himself tightly, not quite meeting Tony’s eyes through the glass.

“It’s a nightmare, Tony… Everything I used to have, it just- _taunts_ me, all the time…”

Tony stepped forward and placed his palms flat against the glass of the chamber door, leaving a red smear.

“Don’t you get it? Bruce, you already _have_ everything here. Your home, your job, your friends. _Me_. You already have it. Don’t take this risk.”

Bruce took a hesitant step closer to Tony, still not meeting his eyes.

“But I don’t have _us_. You. Not anymore.”

Tony fought against a wave of nausea. Bruce’s voice was so desperate, his eyes completely broken, beat down. He had just… _shattered_. 

“But you _do_. Bruce… You have all of me, always…”

Bruce took another hesitant step toward the door, and tentatively reached his hand out to touch his fingertips to Tony’s through the glass. 

“It’s not the same,” he whispered. Tony pleaded with him anxiously.

“It can be. Someday. We’ll fix you the right way, or we’ll rebuild from this together, start over-“

Bruce turned sharply away from the door, raking his hands through his hair.

“That the fucking point, Tony! I can’t rebuild, I don’t- I-“ Bruce paced helplessly, his hands moving vaguely like he didn’t know where to put them. “It’s too much to… I- Tony, _I just can’t!_ ” he finally shouted, whirling back on Tony with gleaming, acid green eyes and bared teeth. 

Tony recoiled from the glass, stepping back and slipping on the gravel of glass on the ground, landing hard on his knees and the palms of his hands. Sharp pains shot through his forearms, whether from the glass in his skin or the repeated blows from the axe, he didn’t know. He looked up at Bruce through the window.

“Goddammit, Bruce! Don’t do this, please!” Tony tried to steady himself on his knees, his heart pounding in his ears. Bruce approached the door and glared out at Tony, before drawing his hand back and punching the metal frame with a frustrated, incoherent shout. His fist left a dent that Tony could see from his side of the door. Bruce turned sharply away from Tony, bending over the RT once more, his back bowed in Tony’s direction.

“Tony, I swear to God, you need to leave me alone,” he growled. His voice was low and threatening and very Hulk-like, and chilled Tony all the way to the ends of his hair.

“Bruce. _Please_. I’m- I’m literally begging you on my knees… Please listen to me…” Tony’s earlier frantic screams and violent struggling had robbed him of everything but a broken whisper. His eyes slid in and out of focus, as he swayed unsteadily on his knees in a pile of shattered glass, his muscles shaky and weak. Radiating pain from the bones in his hands crawled up his arms when he balled them into fists on his knees, and he stared hollowly down at his bloodied knuckles, eyes wide. He could already feel himself sliding sideways, mentally imploding, unable to seal up the cracks in his walls quickly enough to stay in control.

“ _Bruce, please_ …” he breathed. “I- I'm not strong enough to do this again. I can’t… I can't lose you again…”

Bruce paused. The silence was excruciating and dense, broken only by the sound of Tony’s ragged breathing and erratic heartbeat. Bruce didn’t even turn to look at Tony before he spoke, his voice once again quiet and chillingly detached.

“Jarvis, initiate countdown sequence.”

“Initiating sixty-second countdown. _Sixty… fifty-nine… fifty-eight…_ ”

There were crashes and shouts behind Tony.

“ _Fifty-seven… fifty-six…_ ”

Steve slid to his knees beside Tony, gently picking up his hands and looking at his injuries. Tony still stared ahead, slipping into a state of blank resignation, his hands resting lifelessly in Steve’s.

“Oh no… Tony, are you okay?” 

Tony didn’t answer, but flickered his eyes up to the window, where he could still see Bruce, aiming the RT so the beam was directed right at his chest. Tony shook his head. Steve followed Tony’s gaze, his eyes widening in horror. He jumped up and immediately took control. 

“Nat, get Tony out of here, bandage his hands. Clint, get on the screens and start evacuating the building. Thor, get through the damn door.”

Thor hefted his hammer, which hung incongruously from the belt of his slim-cut jeans.

“ _Thirty-nine… thirty-eight… thirty-seven…_ ” 

“Jarvis, I really want to hear you give me the correct answer when I tell you to shut this down.” 

“I am sorry, Captain, I cannot-“

“Stop,” Tony croaked when Natasha hauled him to his feet and tried to pull him away. “If that thing is off by the tiniest degree, it’s gonna blast a full-powered, radioactive Unibeam ten feet from our faces. You open that door, Hulk will be the least of our problems.”

He shook Natasha’s arm off and stumbled to the door of the isolation chamber, laying his hand back on the glass.

“Bruce, look at me.”

Bruce stood between the RT and the far wall, his body hunched over, braced for whatever happened, hands balled into fists. He looked up at Tony, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes.

“ _Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…_ ”

“Bruce…” Tony murmured. “You say you’re doing this because you want us to be _us_ again. Why would you risk so much if you didn’t already feel like we had something worth saving? Why did- are you really trying to tell me that kiss didn’t mean _anything_ to you? _At all?"_

Tony’s voice trembled, and his entire body felt ready to snap from tension. He flattened his palm against the glass, begging Bruce with every cell in his body.

“Bruce, don’t… don’t you love me, even a little?”

Bruce stared at Tony, storms raging behind his poisonous green eyes and muscles in his jaw working.

“ _Six… five…_ ”

“ _Please…_ ” Tony breathed desperately.

“ _Four… three…_ ”

Bruce exhaled sharply, green momentarily fading from his eyes, replaced by a look of clear panic. He lunged toward the RT, one arm reaching in Tony’s direction.

“ _Two…_ ”

“Tony, I-“ 

“ _One._ ”

Tony’s eyes went wide as brilliant blue light exploded into the room. 

**_"NO!"_**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was for me, a lot like chapter eight, in that I found it difficult to re-experience the emotional trauma that Bruce and Tony are suffering. I've lived with a loved one slowly forgetting themselves, as they fight the crippling despair that robs them of all rationality. They grasp desperately for anything of their former life, willing to go to any lengths to get it back, even if they destroy themselves and everyone around them in the process. It's heartbreaking to watch, and there's almost nothing you can do but let them slip away, or get pulled under right alongside them. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for sticking with me so far on this journey, and for all the wonderful, kind comments that have carried me through it. Also, many apologies for the wait for this update, real life demands, yadda yadda.


	14. Chapter 14

The isolation chamber exploded with the same brilliant blue light as when they tested the RT the first time, followed by a shimmering purple shockwave that swept the room. Everyone but Tony shielded their eyes; he squinted against the light, searching frantically for Bruce in the swirling miasma of colors.

“Bruce! Get out of the path of the-“

His words were cut off by a sound like the scream of a missile, and a laser-focused blast of white light erupted from the RT. Tony clapped his hands over his ears at the scream, his heart feeling like it was ready to jump out of his chest when he realized the screaming wasn’t coming just from the RT, but from Bruce, as well.

 _“NO!_ Jarvis, _STOP IT!”_ He shouted, his voice cracking and barely heard over the deafening roar coming from the isolation chamber. The crackling beam of white light was blinding, the pulse and the pitch of the scream continuing to rise steadily. Just as Tony thought his head might explode, he heard a shout behind him; Steve grabbed him around the middle and yanked him back from the isolation chamber door, lifting his feet from the ground and knocking the breath out of his lungs. 

Steve threw him bodily on the ground and hunched over him, shielding Tony’s body with his own. Tony struggled vehemently for a moment until he met Clint’s eye. Clint crouched on the floor with Natasha, hidden behind Thor, and solemnly shook his head once at Tony with a resigned expression and heavy eyes. At that moment they all cowered with their hands over their ears, as the ear-splitting shriek swept through the room, shattering every window in a violent explosion of glass.

The silence that fell was nearly deafening; so oppressive, that for a moment, Tony wasn’t sure his hearing had survived the blast. Then Steve grunted and cursed and rolled off him with a pained hiss, and Tony scrambled unsteadily to his feet and lurched to the isolation chamber, terrified of what he’d find. 

“Bruce?” he murmured, coughing at the thick haze of concrete dust that hung in the air. “Where-“ he choked on the words in his throat at the nauseating sight before him. There was a body-sized hole in the far wall opposite the RT, as if Bruce were thrown straight through it and into the next room. The isolation chamber was a nightmare of twisted metal, concrete rubble, and shattered glass, and all Tony could see of Bruce were his legs sticking out of the hole, the rest of his body hidden in the rubble. His feet were bare, as if force of the concussion knocked him clean out of his shoes.

 _“Bruce!”_ Tony shouted. 

Bruce didn’t move.

Tony scrabbled frantically at the door, reaching through the shattered window to fumble with the handle from the inside, shaking off Steve’s hand when he laid it on Tony’s arm.

“Tony, wait! It might not be safe,” Steve said cautiously, his sharp eyes on Bruce’s body. Tony glared at him, his voice somewhere between a snarl and a growl.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He got the door open and stumbled through, the others close behind. Tony rushed around the pedestal that held the RT, now sitting innocuously in its dock, glowing cheerfully and casting a clear, blue light over the room. God, Bruce wasn’t moving, he wasn’t moving and he wasn’t changing into the Other Guy and was just lying there buried in concrete… Tony swallowed back bile, fighting the panic that wrapped around his throat and tightened every muscle in his body.

He knelt beside Bruce, muttering curses under his breath, shoving ineffectually at the enormous pieces of concrete rubble that covered Bruce’s body. He couldn’t… Jesus, he was so fucking weak! 

“Would you assholes quit standing around and _help me?”_ He shouted to no one in particular, marginally relieved when Steve and Thor hurried to his side to easily lift the large pieces away. 

“No, no… Bruce, c’mon, wake up…” Tony murmured, ignoring the tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he shoved and dug through gravel and concrete and dust until Bruce’s lifeless body was uncovered. Tony picked up Bruce’s pale, unmoving hand, feeling for a pulse with trembling fingers. It was utterly silent for several extraordinarily tense seconds as Tony held his breath and the others stared at him apprehensively. After interminable seconds, his face crumpled and he weakly slumped back on his heels, pressing his hand over his eyes with a choked noise.

“Oh god, oh my god…” he murmured to himself, clutching desperately onto Bruce’s limp wrist like it was a lifeline, sobbing in relief with every beat of Bruce’s hammering pulse. He shuffled closer to Bruce’s head as Steve arranged his body into a more comfortable position, his own face tight with worry and fear. Tony stroked Bruce’s face gently, holding Bruce’s hand to his chest, curled against his arc reactor.

“Hey, Bruce, wake up, okay? Let’s go, Green Bean, we’ve got a big ass mess to clean up because of you,” he murmured in a low, shaky voice with a soft smile, stroking Bruce’s cheek. Steve hovered nearby, Thor, Clint, and Natasha keeping careful watch just a few feet away. Tony only had eyes for Bruce, completely heedless of the brittle edge of tension in the room, of four pairs of eyes watching sharply for any suggestion of green, each of them surreptitiously reaching for their own weapons. Tony only saw Bruce, brow still furrowed and mouth still sad, even in his unconscious state. His clothing was nearly disintegrated, charred around the edges from the blast, and his skin was covered in concrete dust, even though it was completely unmarred in any other way. Tony patted Bruce’s cheek.

“C’mon, Bruce…” he whispered, sighing a relieved gust of air when Bruce stirred. The others jumped a little at Bruce’s movement, guarded and at the ready.

“Tony…” Steve murmured, his voice a warning. Tony looked up at him and nodded, pulling his hands away from Bruce and scooting back a little, just in case. Bruce squeezed his eyes shut more tightly as he began to wake, making soft, pathetic noises and clenching his fists, shifting as if he were having a nightmare.

“Bruce… wake up, you’re safe now…” Tony continued to murmur softly, trying to keep himself from freaking out. Eventually, Bruce cracked his eyes open, looking around dazedly, as if he were unable to focus his eyes on any one thing. Tony reached forward and laid a gentle hand on his cheek, tilting Bruce’s face toward him.

“Rise and shine, Green Bean,” he whispered with a small smile. 

Bruce stared at him for a long time, trying to focus his eyes.

“What…” Bruce started, coughing as he inhaled concrete dust.

“Shh, it’s all right. What do you remember?”

“I-“ Bruce’s eyes clouded for a moment. He frowned, looking around him, his eyes slowly widening in fear as he took in the destroyed room, his charred clothing, and the rest of the team standing warily over him. Bruce looked back up at Tony, studying his face very closely. He struggled a bit to sit up on his elbows, frowning.

“What… I don’t-“ He looked up at Tony with alarm, an edge of panic in his voice. “I don’t remember _anything!_ What- what happened here? Who are you? _Who am I?”_

Tony’s face fell, his stomach dropping sickeningly to his toes and face paling. Bruce didn’t remember. Anything.

 _“No…”_ Tony whispered, feeling like he would be sick. At that same moment, Steve jumped forward and grabbed Tony’s arm, yanking him back away from Bruce to stand behind him and Thor, several paces from Bruce’s feet. Bruce looked at him in confusion, and weakly staggered to his feet, leaning heavily against the remains of the concrete wall beside him. He fingered the burnt remains of his shirt, looking up at the others in a heartbreaking combination of confusion and fright.

“What did- Why are my clothes burnt? How- did you do this to me? Somebody _tell me what’s going on!”_ He started to shout.

Steve held up his hands placatingly, jerking out an elbow to catch Tony and shove him back, when Tony made to slip past him to get to Bruce.

“Tony, stay _back,_ for God’s sake,” he muttered, then turned to Bruce. “You don’t remember anything _at all?”_

Bruce shook his head, balling his fists and wrapping his arms around himself, glancing quickly around at each of their faces, his eyes resting suspiciously on Mjölnir.

“Your name is Bruce Banner. I’m Steve Rogers. You and Tony were working on an experiment and there was an accident- _Tony!”_

Tony shoved past Steve to stand in front of Bruce.

“Bruce, it’s okay, you’re-“

Bruce shook his head a little harder, his breath starting to come in heaving gasps. 

“I’m _not_ okay! I don’t- what kind of accident makes someone forget every-“

He abruptly doubled over, exhaling sharply as if he’d been punched in the gut. He clutched at his head and looked up at Tony with bared teeth and terrified eyes that flared green.

“What the hell did you _do_ to me? There’s- God, there’s _something in my head, WHAT DID YOU DO?”_

With an alarmed grunt, Steve shoved Tony behind him again, and he and Thor stood shoulder-to-shoulder. 

“Bruce, just breathe deeply and calm down, we really, _really_ need you to stay calm, try to control it…” Steve murmured in a soothing voice that didn’t match the look of worried fear on his face. Bruce looked at him in furious disbelief.

 _“Stay calm?_ What-“ His breath was knocked out of him again as he fell back hard, like he was fighting a physical presence. Bruce writhed on the sharp rubble, trying to get his feet under him, falling and crying out against the beast fighting to escape his head. 

_“Bruce!”_ Tony reached for him between Steve and Thor, his voice shaking. Bruce crawled weakly to his knees.

“It’s- it’s too strong, I can’t…” he looked up and met Tony’s eyes, and Tony knew in that moment that he’d trade every penny he owned and all the suits in his workshop to never again have to see that look of abject, terrified grief in Bruce’s eyes.

 _“What happened to me?”_ Bruce whispered, and then he was no longer Bruce. Tony’s eyes widened when Bruce’s panicked noises gave way to rumbling grunts, as he curled in on himself, ripples of green rolling across his body.

 _“Shit,”_ Steve hissed, then leapt into action. “Get back, get back! Jarvis, if there’s anyone left in the building, force them out, _now!_ Tony, _NO!”_ Steve grabbed Tony’s wrist and hauled him from the isolation chamber, ignoring his protests and struggles to stay near Bruce. Thor hefted Mjölnir, standing at the ready between Bruce and the rest of the team.

And Bruce changed. It was agonizing to watch; Bruce fought it, not knowing what was happening to him, crying out in pain and terror as his bones popped and shifted, his skin stretched, and his mind slipped away into a hurricane of incomprehensible rage. When the transformation was complete, Hulk laid in a massive, verdant heap on the floor, his heavy breathing the only sound in the room. The seconds crept by. He didn’t move. Thor took a tentative step forward.

“Bruce? Hulk? Are you with us, my friend?” He murmured gently. 

Hulk didn’t move. Tony shifted forward from his place across the room.

“Bruce…” he whispered. 

The silence was oppressive, each of them as tense as a bowstring, waiting. Dreading.

Hulk grunted and shifted.

Even Thor startled, jumping back quickly.

At the sudden sound and movement, Hulk snorted and lifted his head, then scrambled around to face the others, faster than would seem possible for someone of his size. He stood in the rubble, towering and terrifying, his sharp green eyes roving over them with confusion and suspicion. No one moved or spoke.

Hulk’s piercing gaze settled on Tony for a very long moment, until he clenched his fists and bared his teeth. Thor raised his hammer.

“Fuck,” Tony muttered, as they edged further back. Right now, Thor was their only defense between them and a confused, angry Hulk. Steve didn’t even have his shield, and the rest of them were useless against this. Hulk noticed their movement, and his eyes again locked with Tony’s. And then he snapped. 

With a deafening roar, he leapt at Thor with both hands grasping and teeth bared, but only met with a blow from Mjölnir. Hulk rolled to the side and kicked out as he stood, knocking Thor off his feet, then ran to Thor’s prone body and brought both fists down upon him, grunting in surprise when Thor twisted around and raised his forearm to deflect the blow.

“Do not fight me! I mean you no harm!” Thor bit out, rolling and pushing Hulk’s fists away with his feet while summoning his hammer. When the handle reached his hand, he swung it again, connecting with Hulk’s jaw. His scream was filled with fury, and sounded like ripping metal.

“Dammit, Thor,” Tony shouted. “He needs to calm down, not get more pissed!” His voice seemed to attract Hulk’s attention again, and he dove towards where Tony and the others were standing, knocking over the pedestal and sending the glowing blue RT skittering across the floor. Tony, Natasha, and Clint scattered, and Steve jumped into Hulk’s path, getting shoved easily out of his way and into the wall. Steve stumbled quickly back to his feet, wiping his bloody nose on the back of his hand. 

“C’mon!” he shouted. “I got all night, buddy!” He ran back towards the far wall, keeping Hulk’s attention on him and pulling him away from the others. He and Thor flanked Hulk, circling him as he whirled his head around in confusion, trying to see everything at once. Tony watched in helpless dismay. This was… everything was going to shit. Their weapons were useless against Hulk, and there was nothing they could do but sit and watch Steve and Thor wrestle it out with him. 

Hulk glowered and lashed out in angry bursts, only to reign himself in, his eyes flashing alternately with rage and confusion. He circled in his spot, watching closely where Tony stood, almost completely ignoring Steve and Thor. Tony frowned, stepping forward slowly, shrugging off Natasha’s grip on his elbow.

“He’s not acting like he-“ Tony’s words died in his throat and his eyes went wide with horror, when Hulk abruptly dove over Steve’s head to where Tony stood. Tony, Clint, and Natasha tried to jump out of the way, but Hulk crashed into Tony and they tumbled to the ground, Hulk’s body wrapped around Tony’s.

Tony shouted as they went down, his head hitting hard against the concrete floor and the breath squeezed from his lungs by the pressure of Hulk’s large hand gripping Tony tightly to his chest. In a quick motion Hulk stood and held Tony out with both large hands around his torso, one thumb pressing hard into his already-cracked arc reactor. 

“Easy! Fuck, get him off, _get him off!”_ he shouted in a strained voice. Hulk pulled him close as Tony struggled to breathe, unable to even cry out against the sharp pains in each of the ribs in his chest, as they slowly bent inward from the pressure of the bolts in the arc reactor casing, still being ground into Tony’s chest by Hulk’s thumb. Hulk looked at his face with a deep frown, his breath coming in gusts, and he finally shook Tony hard like a rag doll, roaring in rage and frustration.

“Unhand him at once!” Thor cried, jumping at Hulk from behind. Hulk easily batted Thor away, sending him flying across the room, and returned his attention to Tony, looking at him hard with confusion, roaring again loudly enough to make Tony’s ears pop. Tony, who was decidedly light-headed from the crushing grip around his chest and being shaken with bone-rattling force, flinched and pushed weakly against Hulk’s iron grip.

“You gotta… ease up a little there, Big Guy,” he gasped out, another high-pitched choking sound escaping his throat when he heard something snap under the increasing pressure of Hulk’s thumb. His head lolled weakly and spots clouded his vision, the room spinning from lack of air and searing pain. Thor leapt at Hulk again, catching him around the neck with his hammer, hanging on like he was riding in some kind of terrifyingly disturbing rodeo. 

Hulk spun around and flung Tony across the room as if he were a slingshot, sending him crashing into the wall like a highway wreck. Tony clutched at his chest and gasped for air, gripping Clint’s hand tightly when he rushed over to help Tony lean against the wall. Tony watched in wide-eyed horror as Hulk threw Thor off his back and bellowed at the room, locked eyes with Tony once more, then punched his way through the exterior wall and leapt from the room, scaling the side of the building and disappearing.

“No! Goddammit, _not again!”_ Tony wheezed out, struggling faintly to stand and chase after Hulk, fighting against Clint’s strong grip around his waist when he pulled Tony back down. _“NOT AGAIN!”_

“Thor, follow him, don’t let him out of your sight!” Steve shouted. Thor spun Mjölnir and flew from the enormous hole in the side of the building, as Steve slid to his knees at Tony’s side and pulled his hand away from the arc reactor, ripping Tony’s shirt open while Tony strained to get away from Clint and stared brokenly at the New York skyline through the enormous hole in the wall.

“Son of a bitch, Tony! _Tony,_ it’s not glowing!” Steve muttered frantically, pushing Tony back down firmly so he could look at the arc reactor in his chest; bits of broken glass fell from the surface, a mangled piece of metal stuck up unevenly, and a trickle of blood leaked from the seam between the metal casing and Tony’s skin. Tony’s face was completely wrecked, as he knelt unsteadily on his knees and hyperventilated, eyes completely lost.

“I can’t! _I CAN’T DO IT AGAIN!”_ He screamed, collapsing in on himself, gasping hysterically and clutching at Steve’s arm. He felt like he was being strangled; there was no way he could endure this again. Icy, overwhelming panic crawled up Tony’s spine and his entire body seemed to seize up. “He doesn’t- it didn’t work and… We were so close! Why? _How many times am I supposed to live through this? GOD, I’M NOT FUCKING STRONG ENOUGH!”_ Steve gripped Tony’s face tightly with both hands, slapping his cheek hard.

“TONY! You’ve got to come back to me here! Your arc reactor is out! Do you understand me?” He yelled unnervingly into Tony’s face. Tony stared through him blankly for several moments, choking on his own air, before he realized that his chest was on fire, and not just from the pain of Bruce forgetting him again. He looked down in confusion at the eerily dark circle in his chest and the shadowy bruises blooming around the ominously dented casing.

“Oh… I- oh, _fuck…”_ he muttered, then looked around the lab feverishly. There might not be enough time to get to his workshop… “The RT, we need to find it,” he muttered, and half-crawled, half-scrambled into the isolation chamber, cradling his excruciatingly painful chest with one hand, and feebly pushing at the rubble surrounding the overturned pedestal with the other. 

Steve, Clint, and Natasha ran to his side, shouting and lifting away concrete, kicking through the debris in a frenzied search for that little beacon of light. Tony managed to look under two pieces of rubble before his vision swam and he dizzily collapsed to his side, light-headed and weak, twitching in exhausted resignation. He wasn’t even sure if he cared about finding the RT at this point. Bruce was… just, _gone._ There was nothing of him left, and Tony felt his usual stubborn resolve shrivel at the thought of living through this all over again. 

He breathed a shuddering, desolate sigh just as Clint shouted and ran to him with the new RT, wordlessly rotating the broken arc reactor and hastily yanking out. He reconnected the wires to the new arc reactor that glowed cheerfully blue, as if it hadn’t just blasted Bruce’s entire memory from his body, working quickly and quietly. Tony lay motionless and limp in the rubble and stared blankly past him at the wreckage of the isolation chamber, until Clint clicked the reactor back in place and slumped back on his heels, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Jesus fucking-“ Clint muttered, and in the sudden stillness with the wind from the enormous hole in the wall whipping around the room as loudly as Tony’s ragged breathing, the incredible gravity of what just happened settled around them like a thick, black, poisonous fog. Bruce didn’t remember anything. _Not even his name._ And now Hulk was on a rampage with absolutely no memories and no control of any kind. Because Tony couldn’t stop Bruce. Because he was stupid enough to get tricked into leaving the lab, and slow enough with a solution that Bruce couldn’t be bothered to wait. 

Tony felt himself imploding again. He curled loosely on his side, helpless, crying silently and choking on the air in his throat. He fought and lost against the breathtaking grief that strangled him around the chest, oblivious now to the low background murmur of Steve on the phone with Thor, who pursued Hulk into rural Canada, or Natasha, who was on the line with SHIELD, handling damage control, or Clint, who kneeled in front of Tony, watching him with his sharp eyes that never missed a thing. Tony jumped a little when he heard Steve shout, looking up at him with wild eyes.

“Dammit. _DAMMIT!”_ Steve yelled, off the phone and glaring through the hole in the wall with barely contained frustration. He looked just as imposing in ripped jeans and fitted, dust-covered oxford as he did in the spangled uniform, his back to the room. In a fit of anger, he punched the wall and left a crater in the concrete, then strode quickly over to Tony, dropping to his knees beside him. He slid his hands under Tony’s arms and easily lifted him into a sitting position, so Tony leaned against the wall dazedly. He put a hand on each of Tony’s shoulders and looked him in the eye. 

“I’m sorry, Tony. We- _I_ should have been more involved in this, I should have been keeping a closer eye on Bruce. I _never_ should have made you give up the security codes,” he said solemnly, the way he always was. Earnest. Sincere. A muscle in Steve’s jaw worked as he ground his teeth together. “Thor’s tracking him, he’s not heading toward any populated areas. We’ll fix this, Tony. I promise.” Tony looked up at Steve’s dark, serious eyes, and completely wilted. 

“You can’t- _I_ can’t even, how could anyone else hope to…” he couldn’t spit out the words around his harsh gasps, and drew his knees up to his bleeding chest and wrapped his arms around his legs. He let his face fall to his knees, and focused on the hateful blue light in his chest that caused all this. They were so close, and the festering, raw wound in Tony’s heart from this entire ordeal had only just started to scab over. And Bruce… Tony was _certain_ of what Bruce was getting ready to say before he was hit with the pulse. Bruce had to… he just _had_ to… Tony felt like he was dying, drowning all over again. And it was so much worse this time; the suffocating pain was excruciating in its intensity. 

“I’m not- I’m not strong enough to do this all over again,” he whispered, his voice a muffled, broken sob. “I almost had him back… I just… _I can’t live through it again…”_ Clint reached out and squeezed Tony’s forearm, his tone light, but his eyes troubled.

“Hey, we’ll track him, yeah? You get that thing in your chest figured out, pop it in one of your suits, and we’ll find him and fix him. Tony, man- you gotta stay with us here. Don’t go under again. You can do this.”

 _“I can’t,”_ Tony breathed. Natasha’s voice was gentle near his ear, and he wondered how the hell she always moved so silently.

“You can, and you will. This isn’t the worse thing you’ve had to overcome, and you _will_ overcome it,” she said simply in her usual soft, disarming voice, a slight tremble betraying her shock and sadness. 

“They’re right, Tony. You’re strong enough. We’ll be right there by your side the entire time. Bruce needs us all, we’re not going to leave him to suffer, just like we’re not going to leave you,” Steve murmured gently, his own voice tight with grief.

A thready, strained noise came from Tony’s throat as he breathed in heaving gasps and tried not to snap, clinging desperately to their words like a drowning man clings to a life preserver in a hurricane. He couldn’t possibly imagine how they could fix this; all he could think about was Bruce waking up after Hulking out, having no idea where he was, or even who he was, or _what_ he was, completely lost in the wilderness with a foreign monster in his head. And Tony felt so wretched he wanted to die. He felt like he’d miserably failed everyone he’d ever loved. 

He felt like he’d never failed someone in his entire life as much as he’d failed Bruce.


	15. Chapter 15

It was an indication of the deep shock they all felt, that they sat in silence for a long time, huddled around Tony, no one making a move to leap into action. The implications of Hulk rampaging without Bruce’s brutal self-control in the back of his mind, tempering that rage, were incomprehensible. Tony’s stomach churned, utterly sickened. What would this mean for Bruce? If they somehow overcame the insurmountable odds before them and fixed the device, found him, convinced him to listen, managed to use the RT on him without him Hulking out, and got back his memories, what then? Would Bruce’s control be called into question again? Would SHIELD decide he was a liability, and let someone like Ross step in? What if Hulk hit a town? _Killed_ someone? Killed _entire swaths_ of people? There was… God, there was _literally nothing_ any of them could do to stop him.

Tony’s breaths came faster and shallower, the muscles in his chest spasming until he hyperventilated, light-headed and frantic with worry. Nat scrutinized him with piercing, concerned eyes, and he felt a frantic, panicked need to get the fuck out of there, swallowing against the sourness in his mouth. He scrambled up, pushed the others out of his way, and stumbled unsteadily through the glass and twisted metal to the far wall, until he fell to his knees over a trash basket and violently heaved until he felt like his empty stomach might flip inside out. 

When he finished, all the nauseating horror of the day still festered inside him, enhanced now by searing pain in his chest around the arc reactor casing. He scrubbed at his eyes and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, pushed the trashcan away weakly, and sat slumped on his knees for a while before he realized that Steve was there next to him, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. Steve didn’t say anything, just sat there rubbing Tony’s back, quiet and supportive. 

Tony bowed his head and tried to absorb strength from the touch, embarrassed and grateful and frustrated, focused intently on a stray glass shard on the floor while he tried to catch his breath. Just as his insides started to relax a bit and the horrible dread began to ebb, a ringing phone pierced the tense silence like a shot, and every muscle in Tony’s body seized up as he just about jumped out of his skin. Steve’s hand left Tony’s back, leaving a cold spot and a wave of shivers behind, as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. 

“It’s Thor, hang on.” Steve held the phone to his ear. “Yeah? Okay. How far? No, we’re just getting ready to- what? Are you sure? No, no, tell me exactly what happened.”

Tony looked up at Steve, who frowned at the wall. Natasha and Clint filtered in, listening carefully.

“No, but that could mean…”

“What’s going on?” Tony hissed in alarm. Steve held up his palm for him to shut up.

“And you’re absolutely sure? Okay, just keep tracking him. Don’t try to approach Bruce until we get there, you could freak him out all over again. Okay. Bye.”

Steve stared at his phone for a few seconds until Tony slapped his upper arm.

“Well?”

“Thor followed him into Canada, and he stopped somewhere north of Lake Ontario. The map on Thor’s phone is telling him it’s somewhere between Perth and Bancroft.” Tony frowned at this.

“Bancroft? That’s- Jesus, that’s almost five hundred miles from here! Well, did he stop? Did he change back? He didn’t hit any towns did he? Did Thor see if he injured any-”

Steve held up his hand again, interrupting Tony frantic line of questioning.

“I’m not done. Thor says it looks like he skirted populated areas, and he said it looked like he might have done it on purpose.” Steve’s frown deepened. “Hulk stopped in a forested area and just roared and ripped apart some trees for a while, then said something.”

Tony held his breath.

“He shouted your name.”

There was a brittle, silent pause while they all processed what that meant, then Tony scrambled to his feet, expression steely.

“He _remembers.”_

Steve stood too.

“Tony, we don’t know that. If he remembered, he wouldn’t have almost crushed you when-”

Tony cut him off, already mumbling to himself feverishly, barely even seeing the others.

“Bruce doesn’t remember. But Hulk does? Or kind of does? Maybe he’s only getting flashes… we have to find him… he could-“ Tony abruptly looked up at the hole in the far exterior wall, and his eyes were crazed and expression wild. “We have to go to him, now.”

Clint put a heavy, warning hand on Tony’s shoulder, and Steve gripped his face hard with both hands, forcing Tony to focus on Steve’s face.

“Are you out of your damned mind, Tony?! You’re not doing anything yet! What, are you going to blast him again with that thing and hope it works this time?” He released Tony’s face, and they exchanged defiant scowls. “The only place you’re going is to the tower infirmary to be x-rayed so we can be sure you didn’t break a rib, then straight to your workshop so you can fix whatever part of the RT didn’t work, THEN we’ll go after him.”

Tony jerked away from him and Clint, bristling with anger.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me? So you just want to leave him to wander the woods alone with no idea who he is, until he Hulks out from stress and goes Code Green on a ski resort? Shit, Cap, I thought you were the tactical genius here! Because that sounds pretty fucking stupid to me!”

Clint pulled on Tony’s shoulder, turning him away from Steve.

“He’s not alone, Tony. Thor’s with him, he can handle his shit. I mean, damn, man! How do you think you’re gonna help him when you’re bleeding out of your chest and have no idea what went wrong with the beam?” 

Natasha stepped forward, her voice a forced calm as she looked at each of them in turn.

“Look, we don’t have any good options here. We leave now, and we have a very slim chance of intercepting Bruce, and an even slimmer chance of convincing him to trust us and come quietly, and even then, there’s no guarantee that he’d have any choice in whether he Hulks out, since Bruce’s self-control is clearly not present. I also think that effectively rules out sending SHIELD after him. There’d be no way to get him into the safe room without an incident.”

Tony almost felt sick again at the word ‘incident.’ Without him possibly murdering dozens of people and leaving Bruce to deal with the fallout, is what she meant. Tony swallowed hard as she continued.

“Our other option is to stay here, only long enough for you to finish whatever calibrations you have left to complete on the device and treat your wounds, then we find him. Thor can keep him corralled away from populated areas, and maybe make contact with him as Bruce. We’ll just have to leave him unattended for now, which frankly makes me extremely uncomfortable, but I also think it runs the lowest risk of casualty.”

The silence stretched for a few moments as they contemplated their choices, neither of them good. Then Steve spoke again, his voice calmer this time.

“That still doesn’t give us any options on what to do when we actually find him. How’s he going to react when an armed robot, an archer, an assassin, and some guy with a shield start surrounding him, let alone the guy three times his size with the sledgehammer that’s been stalking him through the woods? You have to blast him before he’s changed, right?” he asked Tony with a crease between his brows. Tony nodded.

“The memories are tethered to Bruce. He has to be Bruce for the device to work.” Tony murmured. Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and heaved a very frustrated sigh. 

“So… what? I really don’t like the idea of just winging it.”

“Could we… I don’t know, sneak up on him and blast him in the back when he isn’t looking?” Clint asked. Tony glared at him.

“I’m not even going to go into all the reasons why I hate that idea.”

“Well there seems to be a notable absence of genius ideas from your side of the room, so I-“

“Would you two knock it off?” Steve growled tersely, before looking back up at Tony with a bone-weary sigh. “Tony, you need to decide. We need a plan, and you have the most vested interest in what it will be.”

Tony turned, pacing slowly and running both hands through his hair. He just couldn’t shake that feeling of dread, that no matter what they did, something horrifying was probably going to happen, and it’d probably come back to being his fault, but Bruce would end up taking the punishment. Just thinking about it was torturous. 

Go to Bruce now, try to convince him to stay in their protection while Tony finished the RT, and hope he didn’t Hulk out and take everyone out he came across? Or leave Bruce under Thor’s watch, scared and alone in the woods where he was less likely to hurt someone, while Tony finished the RT here, then… what? Try to convince him to hold real still for a minute so they could shoot him with a radioactive Unibeam? Sneak attack before he notices they’re there? Goddammit, they were just… _fucked!_ Tony swore and viciously kicked over a chair. There was absolutely nothing good about any of their options. 

This should have been shit he could handle by himself. Why would anyone else need to get involved, besides Thor? All they needed was he and Bruce’s brainpower and Thor’s knowledge of magic. Otherwise, Tony just worked better alone; then when he inevitably fucked everything up, he was the only one who had to deal with it. All he needed was to be there for Bruce, and they’d make this right together. So what did he do? He snapped at fucking everyone, including Thor, and pushed away every little kind gesture of theirs so he could… what? Be a fucking martyr? Pull Bruce right alongside him into the fucked up house of horrors inside his head? Maybe what they were trying to tell him was that all his grandiose posturing about being there for Bruce was really him being a selfish asshole as always, and absolutely ruining whatever slim chance Bruce had for recovery, Tony thought bitterly.

If Tony had fully included the rest of the team in the problem, maybe they’d have noticed Bruce’s grip slipping. Maybe they’d have been able to support him in ways Tony couldn’t, and Bruce never would have snapped. _Tony_ wouldn’t have snapped. He could have let their friends be their safety net, let them help because they _wanted_ to help, and instead, he pushed them all away, and worse, _pushed them away from Bruce._ God… that thought punched the air right out of Tony’s lungs. If somehow they all managed to get out of this and Bruce forgave him, Tony would never be able to apologize enough. _Ever._ Well, no fucking more. Tony set his jaw, defiant fire flaring in his eyes.

“We’re staying. And… I need your help. C’mon, we’ve got shit to do,” He muttered, searching the rubble for his dark, ruined arc reactor (and if that wasn’t the perfect fucking metaphor for the hollowed pit in his chest…) and scooped it up, holding it close to his chest. He ran his thumb absently over the tiny, precise engravings around the edge of the lock ring as he stalked towards the elevator, studiously ignoring the look that Clint and Natasha exchanged. They crowded into the elevator, and before Tony could tell Jarvis to take them to his workshop, he was interrupted.

“Infirmary please, Jarvis.” Steve said, leveling Tony with a look that dared him to say no. Tony rolled his eyes, but said nothing. Within minutes, he was lying on an exam table, thin lines of blue and red light scanning his body from Jarvis’ holographic medical interface. When the scan was done, Tony sat up with a pained grunt, looking down at his chest with annoyance. He grazed his fingertips across his skin gently, hissing at the tender, swollen bruises that completely covered his torso all the way around. Natasha leaned close to dab at the blood still seeping from the side of the arc reactor casing, while Jarvis processed the scans.

“Sir, it appears that you have suffered hairline fractures in the first, second, and third metacarpals of the right hand, the first proximal phalange and first metacarpal of the left hand, a grade I sprain in the right wrist, and the reactor casing struts on the third and fourth vertebrosternal ribs have bent and compromised the integrity of the costal cartilage. A metal fragment is protruding into the surrounding tissue, and you have extensive bruising and muscle strains.”

Tony sighed deeply, wincing at both the pain in his chest and hands, as well as the loaded looks Steve, Clint, and Natasha were giving him.

“So I broke my hands, snapped the arc reactor casing off of a couple ribs, am bleeding internally, and am otherwise beat to shit?”

“That would be a succinct, if rather imprecise summary, Sir.”

“Will the casing require surgery?”

“I am afraid so, Sir.”

Tony scrubbed over his face with his hand, utterly exhausted.

“Is it life-threatening if I wait?”

“No Sir, but I cannot advise-“

“Am I hemorrhaging dangerous amounts of blood?”

“Not yet, Sir, but there is significant risk of-“

“Will there be permanent damage in my hands if I don’t treat them now?”

“No Sir, but you will experience increasingly intense-“

Tony shoved off the exam table and pushed Natasha’s hands away from his chest with another tired sigh, beckoning to the others and speaking over Jarvis.

“All right, workshop,” he muttered, pulling on his tattered, dirty shirt. Steve reached out and grabbed his upper arm, pulling him back.

“Not so fast, Tony,” he said softly. Tony whipped around and slapped Steve’s hand away from his arm. 

“Goddammit, Steve! I’m not going to just-“ Tony cut himself off mid-sentence, hands immediately raking through his hair and scrubbing over his face in frustration. Steve wasn’t trying to- to _interfere,_ he was just trying to help. Tony stumbled back from them all, feeling cornered. He held up his hands to Steve in a universal gesture of ‘just give me a fucking minute here, okay?’ and squeezed his eyes shut, breathing hard through his nose. Okay. Just… _okay._ He wasn’t going to help Bruce if he collapsed halfway through repairs on the RT. He wasn’t doing the lone man routine anymore, right? He _needed_ to let them in.

Very slowly, he walked back over to the exam table and sat gingerly on the edge, his whole body strung tight, as if he were waiting for one of them to laugh at him. No one said anything. Tony finally looked up at Steve with an arched brow and jutted his chin out, as if to say ‘well?’ Steve wordlessly handed him a roll of bandages to hold and helped Tony field-dress his wounds as quickly as possible, giving him a look that Tony was certain would accompany an hour-long ass-reaming about basic self-preservation in just about any other situation but this. Tony dished that look right back. If he was going to sit here and be cooperative when his entire world crumbled around him and he quite literally fell apart at the seams, he’d better goddamn get credit for it. 

 

________________________________________________

 

_“Okay, smile with your teeth this time, got it? When I show everyone the photos from our sex-addled, whirlwind, European adventure, I want them to believe me when I tell them I showed you a good time,” Tony said, as he held up the phone at arm’s length._

_“Yeah, boss,” Bruce murmured, laughing as Tony pressed their cheeks together, and they were both trying not to lose it at how ridiculously hipster they looked, in their matching wool pea coats and knit hats and scarves, with Bruce’s curls peeking out, as they took a selfie at night in front of the Eiffel tower. Bruce thumbed through their shots, laughing at the photos as Tony yanked his gloves back on._

_“You gonna put these on your Instagram, Tinman?” Bruce teased, handing Tony’s phone back. Tony rolled his eyes._

_“Hah. Don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t see any food or Starbucks in any of those shots,” he said, smirking, then reached over to tug Bruce’s hat down playfully over his eyes._

_“Hey!” Bruce exclaimed, then Tony slid his hand into Bruce’s pocket, and they pressed close, the fog from their breath hanging between them as they slowly walked down the Champ de Mars. The park buzzed with holiday excitement, mostly from dazzled tourists, and glittered with little points of golden light from the tower. Tony shivered a bit against Bruce’s arm, and Bruce deeply breathed the crisp winter air, warmed by the smell of Tony’s expensive, spicy cologne._

_“So is this place going to be one of those restaurants that serves steak-flavored capsules with pomegranate and muskrat foam?” Bruce asked, leaning into Tony’s side and holding his hand tighter in his pocket. He could feel Tony’s eye roll without even having to look._

_“It’s_ gastronomy, _at_ Le Jules Verne, _not science hour at the frat house. You know, they_ do _have a Michelin star, it’ll be slightly better than the SHIELD cafeteria. Plus we have reservations for the table with the best view.” Tony stopped right there in the walkway and turned, and Bruce felt like he could drown in all the love in Tony’s adoring smile. Despite the bitter cold, he felt warm all the way through. He snaked his arms around Tony’s waist and kissed his nose. Tony laughed softly._

_“You know, if we’re going to make this work, you’d better get used to letting me lavish you with extravagant trips and scandalously expensive dinners at internationally-renowned Michelin-star restaurants. And gifts. Lots of gifts.” Tony smirked, and Bruce grabbed his wrist and pulled him from the path over to a tree, crowding him gently back against the trunk. Bruce reached up with a finger and tugged the side of Tony’s scarf down, and pressed a kiss just below his ear, smiling against Tony’s stubble when he felt him sigh softly._

_“I’ll endure it all with a smile, as long as I get to share it with you,” Bruce whispered, curling closer and burying his nose in the warmth between Tony’s scarf and the softness of his skin. Tony went pliant and warm under Bruce’s lips, then breathed a small laugh and moved against his thigh._

_“You gettin’ a little excited there, Green Bean?” Tony whispered hotly, pressing his thigh into something hard and hooking a hand into each of Bruce’s coat pockets to pull him closer. Bruce only grinned._

_“Just a little early Christmas present,” he whispered back, trailing his lips along the damp heat of Tony’s mouth. Tony pulled back, his eyes going wide with mischief._

_“Don’t you think we’d have a bit more fun if we went somewhere a little warmer?” Tony said, grinning widely. Bruce chuckled, reached in his pocket, and pulled out a flat, square, velvet box, about the size of a CD case. He held it up in the small space between them._

_“Joyeux Noël, mon bien-aimé,” Bruce murmured, resting his forehead against Tony’s. Tony took the box with, curious, eager eyes, and Bruce drank him in. God, he never knew he could love someone like this; it was just… indescribable. And the way Tony looked at him… Bruce thought if he only ever could remember one thing about his life, it would be how desperately, unreservedly in love they were. How… utterly_ happy _Tony made him. How Tony seemed to take all of Bruce’s unstable inclinations, sharp points, and jagged edges, and bandaged them all neatly together, making him whole and good again. Tony opened the box to find a 3-inch ring of gleaming silver metal nestled on the deep red velvet inside, like a piece of jewelry. He pulled it out and inspected it quizzically, then his eyes lit up._

 _“Is this what I think…?” he started. Bruce took it and angled it so the twinkling lights strung throughout the park glinted like stars along the edge._

_“It’s a new external lock-ring for your arc reactor. Jarvis and I designed it. I developed a new bio-metallic coating, that adapts to your actual cellular signature, so you won’t have the irritation and scarring that you get with this one where it touches your skin, and it has vibration-absorbing capabilities, so the high-frequency vibrations won’t cause the numbness and nerve damage, and impacts from your suit won’t reverberate into the casing.” He ran his finger over a series of tiny, precise engravings around the edge of the lock ring, his blush threatening to heat the air between them. “I engraved it, too. In binary. Here…” He handed it to Tony to read, and held his breath as he did so. Tony finally spoke the words out loud._

_“’I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart). I am never without it (anywhere I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done by only me is your doing, my darling).’ From your beloved Bruce, may you always carry my heart safe within yours.” Tony was quiet for a long moment, studying the lock ring and stroking the edge lightly with his fingertips. Bruce bit his lip. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea; Tony was so comfortable around him that it was easy for Bruce to forget how sensitive he was about the arc reactor._

_“It’s- it’s a line from an E.E. Cummings poem. Do you like it? I mean, I know you don’t exactly… and the arc reactor isn’t your favorite-“ Tony looked up at him with_ those _eyes, with that look that made Bruce feel like he was standing too close to the surface of the sun, and his words died in his throat._

_“Oh,_ Bruce…” _Tony breathed, then his arms were around Bruce’s neck and Tony kissed him hard and deep and scorching, until Bruce was breathless and he knew his lips would still be red when they reached the restaurant._

_“I love it,” Tony whispered. “I love_ you, _Bruce.”_

_Bruce smiled and closed his eyes and immersed himself in those words, letting them wash over him for the millionth time, never growing tired of them. He curled against Tony, burying his nose against Tony’s scarf again and inhaling him deeply._

_“I love you, too, Tony.”_

 

________________________________________________

 

In the rural forests of southern Ontario, Bruce lay unconscious in the tattered remains of his clothing, closely watched by a blond man with a hammer hidden on an outcropping of rock. Bruce's body twitched and flexed as though he were waking from a nightmare, until with a great heaving gasp, his eyes flew open, pricked with acid green. He sat up in a rush, about to cry out for someone, before he realized in an abrupt wave of confusion that he had no idea where he was. Or _who_ he was. Or whom he could possibly cry out for. Cold panic settled heavy in his stomach, and he staggered to his feet. The cool, verdant greens and clear blues of the forest were completely unfamiliar, and leaning unsteadily against a tree trunk, he clutched at his head as swirling imagery of a man with a goatee standing near a glittering tower faded like a fleeting dream. 

“What the hell was _that?”_ he breathed roughly, before he fell to his knees and cried out at the foreign presence in his otherwise empty head. He felt a flash of horrifying rage, and saw waves of poison green swim across his vision, before the presence forcefully pushed him aside once more as the panic and confusion gripped him, and burst violently from Bruce’s body in an explosion of darkness, agony, and terror.


	16. Chapter 16

Tony sat at his worktable with a light shining on his chest, the arc reactor casing displayed clearly on his screen. He pulled the camera closer, pushing the replacement RT to the side with a bandaged hand. 

“Goddammit…” he muttered, leaning in a little to inspect the large dent in the side of the reactor casing, that left a hole open to his chest that currently seeped blood. He disengaged the lock ring from the damaged reactor, running a thumb over the engravings on the side for a moment, before transferring it to the new reactor with a sigh. He looked up to see Steve hovering by his side, watching closely.

“You wanna give me some air?” Tony muttered with a scowl. Steve held up his hands defensively, but didn’t move. 

“Just making sure you didn’t need help.”

Tony didn’t reply as he went back to his work. He took a deep breath, then quickly disengaged the lock ring on the brilliant blue reactor in his chest, pulled it free, and pushed the replacement reactor into the casing, turning it to lock in place.

It wouldn’t engage. 

Tony looked down, frowning as his heart started to race, piercing pains beginning to creep through his chest. He pulled it out, replaced it, turned…. And it didn’t click. The dent in the casing was catching on the power converter and secondary heat sink for the electromagnet, preventing it from locking home. 

“Shit, shit, _shit_ …” Tony muttered, and Steve leaned close.

“What’s the matter?” he asked in an alarmed voice. Tony slapped at the reactor with the heel of his palm.

“It- the goddamned casing is dented, I can’t lock it in…” he bit out, already feeling a bead of sweat run down his spine and his blood rushing in his ears as he tried not to scream in frustration and throw the motherfucking thing across the room. He yanked it out, intending to replace the blue RT, which he had designed with a shallower reactor chamber that obviously fit, until he could figure out what the fuck to do. Tony made a frustrated noise in his throat, but as he reached for the blue light, Steve batted his hand away.

“Wait, let me try something,” he said, reaching for the empty arc reactor casing in Tony’s chest. Tony covered the hole with his hand, an incredulous look on his face.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? I’m not letting you finger-fuck the hole in my chest!” Tony snapped, but Steve gave him a look and pulled his hands away, put two fingers of each hand in the empty casing, and used his super-soldier strength to pull open the casing, flattening out the dent as best he could while Tony panted and made a strained noise in his throat as the loose metal fragment from the casing dug deeper into the muscle of his chest. As soon as Steve removed his fingers, Tony rammed the arc reactor back in, twisting it and sucking in a ragged breath when it locked in place. He rested his elbows on the worktable and let his head fall in his hands as the wave of dizziness subsided, finally looking up into Steve’s concerned eyes when he felt like he could speak without passing out again.

“Thanks,” he muttered, dropping his head down to rest his forehead on the cool worktable surface with a thunk.

“You feeling okay?”

“Better than five minutes ago.” 

“I guess that’s better than a screen door on a submarine.”

Tony looked up at him and made a face, barking a startled laugh.

_“What?”_

Steve smirked.

“You know? Because the water will get in?” Steve started, then rolled his eyes. “Never mind. It was a joke. Or a crack at one.” 

“No, I get that. I’m just trying to figure out what possessed you to say it out loud,” Tony said, smirking back, relieved for Steve’s feeble attempt to break the tension. He gathered the blue RT and took it to the workspace that Natasha and Clint had set up, and quickly began typing commands and pulling up a myriad of holographic panels as the other gathered around. 

“Okay, here’s the components that we need to check. Nat, you monitor the energy pulse readouts on this display, you may need to adjust the feedback loop, don’t let it deviate more than plus/minus .10 microns. Steve, the output scans will scroll through over here. During the test run, watch for any spikes in these three categories, here, and flag them. Clint, you’re with me on the vortex aperture. The high-frequency inverse calibration has got to be off; Bruce was so rushed that there’s no way he completed the adjustments accurately.” Tony looked up briefly to make sure they all understood. “I’ll start with the hardware modifications, so it’ll fit in one of the suits. Then we finish the fine adjustments, give it a test run, and go. Questions?” 

Tony’s hand was poised over the holographic model, and Clint frowned and reached out and grabbed his wrist. 

“Wait, man. I know I said something back there about popping this thing in a suit, but I wasn’t serious! You’re not actually gonna do that, are you?” Clint said, concerned. Tony scowled.

“Well, you wanna help me break down the RT dock and rebuild the ionic containment chamber and transport it to middle-of-fucking-nowhere Canada, reconstruct it, modify the reactor power output from the quinjet to contain the goddamn thing, catch Bruce and shove him inside, then high-five and peace out?” he bit out, all traces of levity gone from the atmosphere. Clint dropped his hand and looked perturbed.

“No! Jesus, Tony, lay off! I just mean that, look what it did to your chamber. It blew Bruce through the damn wall! What’s it gonna do to you if you’re wearing the suit, and have that thing butted right up against your chest when it goes off?”

Tony glared down at the unit, hesitating; as it seemed had been the case throughout this entire nightmare, Tony didn’t have an answer for that. He clenched his fists, biting the inside of his cheek at the sharp pains that shot through his bandaged hands.

“It’ll be okay. Bruce just didn’t have it adjusted right,” he said quietly. He could feel Steve’s look without even raising his eyes.

“You sure about that?” Steve murmured. Tony huffed a sharp breath and turned away, bracing his hands on his desk and hunching over, flipping through page after page of holographic schematic in vain, just so his hands had something to do besides break everything in reach out of utter, impotent frustration. He finally scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to remind himself that he couldn’t do this alone. 

_He needed their help._

_Don’t push them away._

“Tony…” Natasha murmured, appearing silently by his side and laying a hand on his shoulder. He raked his hand through his hair and shrugged away from her touch. 

“I know, I know….” He muttered, turning back to the others, who waited expectantly. Natasha stayed by his side. 

“What about if Jarvis remotely controlled the suit?” she suggested quietly, and Tony crossed his arms and chewed his thumbnail while he thought, staring intently at the hateful blue light on the RT that they gathered around, as though it were an innocent infant doing something adorable. He’d considered that, but didn’t like the idea of Bruce being cornered by an admittedly terrifying robotic suit of armor, with no one even remotely familiar nearby.

“I guess that could work…” he muttered, his mind working overtime to make the pieces fit, realizing that they were essentially out of options. “Okay. Yeah, okay, we’ll do that. I need to fit it to the Mark XII, that one has the highest impact-rating in the chest-piece. J, lock and load, Mark XII on the table, stat. Questions?” he asked, immediately in work-mode, while the gallery of suits hissed open, the Mark XII glowing to life.

No one said anything, and they got started immediately. There was a flurry of activity, prepping screens, gathering equipment, until Tony bent low over the Mark XII with the plating exposed, a tiny screwdriver in hand. Tony held his breath and gripped the screwdriver tightly, but the minuscule flathead slipped out of the slot over and over, until he straightened abruptly and clenched his trembling, bandaged fists, as unsteady as he’d been when Clint and Nat cleared all the liquor from the building after his breakdown and he suffered the burning, quaking, infuriating withdrawals.

“Fuck…” he muttered, fumbling and dropping the screwdriver with a loud clatter, before shoving away from the table and rolling his left shoulder tensely, his whole body coiled in barely-contained frustration, scarcely a breath away from completely snapping. The radiating pain shot through his hands, all the way up his arms, there’d be no fucking way…

Behind him, Steve watched Tony closely, how he seemed like he wanted to crawl out of his skin in an explosive, violent manner. He hastily reached for the screwdriver, holding it to the slot with precise steadiness. 

“Tony. Like this?” he said. Tony whipped around, his eyes still wild, immediately drawn to Steve’s hands hovering over the arc reactor of the suit. He gaped for several seconds before that unbidden reminder slapped him forcefully once more.

_He needed their help._

_Don’t push them away._

Tony gave Steve a look that was simultaneously grateful and defeated, but returned to the table. 

“Yeah. There’s twenty-eight of them, to release the blast shield overplate. Then each segment needs to be disengaged individually from the casing housing,” he said quietly, pointing out the parts to the other three. Steve nodded and immediately got to work, and as the overplate came off, he, Clint, and Natasha disengaged the segments with their foreheads practically touching. They worked as seamlessly as they did in the battlefield, Tony relaying quick instructions, and the team following them precisely as the hours passed in a blur. 

“All right, Nat, come here. Clint, you need to hold those wires like- no, goddammit, red on the left, twist it right... There. Steve, don’t move your finger. Nat, now you can- just… yeah, just like that…” Tony murmured from his position hunched over an open control panel on the suit and surrounded by holographic displays. Steve reached up and scrolled one of the displays to the side. 

“Okay, are you ready for the pulse?” he asked, his finger hovering over the control. Tony held up a hand for him to wait. 

“No, just a second, Nat’s got one more solder point… and…. Okay, now.” Steve punched the switch, and the chestpiece of the suit flared to life, the brilliant blue of the modified arc reactor shining from its chest, rather than the bluish-white of the usual arc reactor. They all sagged in relief, withdrawing their hands and alternately stretching backwards or leaning over the table tiredly. 

“Jesus Christ, it works. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” Tony muttered, trailing off as he read the scans, indicating that the RT was calibrated perfectly and resonating with absolute precision in the carrier servos. Tony stared helplessly at the suit for a few moments, before the cripplingly tense emotion of the last several hours finally snapped, and he snarled abruptly and threw a small screwdriver across the room in a burst of anger, heedless of the delicate equipment that fell over with an expensive-sounding crash. _“Sonofabitch!”_ he shouted, then slumped back against the table, scrubbing his bandaged, shaking hand over his face. “If he’d just fucking _waited…”_ He kicked out his foot on the last word, violently knocking over his stool, before pushing off and whirling around as if to sweep his arms angrily across the worktable behind him. _“GODDAMMIT,_ BRUCE! _WHY?!”_ he shouted, unhinged, until Natasha slid in front of him and caught his wrists in a firm, but gentle grip. 

_“Tony,”_ she said quietly, but firmly, and he glared, boiling with anger and frustration and impotence. Steve appeared by his side, and put a heavy and on his shoulder, and Clint soon joined them on the other side. Tony felt caged.

“Let me go,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and tugging at his wrists, his entire body stiff and coiled. 

“Tony, it’s ok. We did it, let’s go save him, okay?” Steve murmured. 

_“Let me go,”_ Tony said a little louder. Natasha released his wrists, but none of them stepped back. Clint squeezed his shoulder.

“C’mon, man. Bruce is waiting for us. For you. Let’s bring him home.” Clint said. Tony shrugged tensely out from under Clint and Steve's hands and tried to breathe through his nose, attempting to keep the anger and helpless anxiety at bay for just a little while longer. He just needed to keep his shit together a little longer. Just… don’t fucking fall apart. This wasn’t the time. Not until Bruce was home, and was all better. He finally nodded, looking at the ground, every breath deliberate with forced calm. 

“Let’s go,” he whispered. 

 

____________________________________

 

Thor crept closer, leaving his hammer out of sight behind a tree, settling himself on the ground in plain sight, and waited. The crumpled heap of a man ten paces away slept on soundly for another hour, while Thor watched him intently and didn’t move a muscle. Thor had lost count now of how many times Bruce had woken, stumbled weakly around in panicked confusion, Hulked out, raged, then passed out. Each time when Bruce finally stirred, his movements were slower and weaker. He didn’t even lift his head when he opened his eyes this time, even though the crease between his eyes indicated that he saw Thor.

“Who’re you?” Bruce slurred, feebly pushing himself upright and watching Thor warily, his expression turning to alarm as he realized his clothing was shredded. Thor smiled softly and held up his hands in a disarming gesture.

“I am Thor. I am a friend. Your name is Bruce, there was an accident that affected your memory,” he murmured. Bruce looked at him in confusion, then stared blankly, as though he were mentally cataloguing the truth to Thor’s words. He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple.

“I don’t- an accident?” He looked up at Thor in increasing distress. “I don’t remember… I- what happened? Where am I?” Thor slowly stood to go help Bruce, who quickly scrambled away until his back thumped into a tree trunk and held up a hand to stop Thor, his hand shaking weakly. “That’s- that’s close enough! Answer my questions!” Bruce’s voice was frail and panicked, and Thor froze, retreating quickly.

“Bruce, you are safe, my friend, I do not intend to cause you harm. I mean to protect you,” Thor said, keeping his voice calm and soothing. “You were working on a project together with your friend Tony, and there was an explosion. You are safe here, I promise. Do you remember me?” Bruce gaped, then slowly shook his head.

“Tony…” Bruce breathed, holding his head delicately in his hands as if it were glass. “I don’t- No, I don’t remember any of that…” He shook his head slowly, squeezing his eyes shut, before drawing a ragged breath and looking up. “Was anyone hurt in the explosion?” 

Thor laughed, a soft, bitter sound. Even in a state of panic and confusion, with no memory of his past indiscretions, Bruce’s first concern was harm that he may have caused others. Thor shook his head and crept closer, his hands out reassuringly, until he could kneel slowly, a few feet in front of Bruce. 

“No, everyone is fine. Tony is on his way to join us shortly,” Thor murmured. Bruce looked at him in confusion.

“Join us? This- where was the explosion? Wha-“ Bruce froze abruptly, narrowing his eyes, before shaking his head. “There’s- what is that?” he breathed, then clutched his temples. “I hear something!” Thor immediately stood and stepped back, his fingers twitching in anticipation of summoning Mjölnir. 

“What do you hear, Bruce?” he murmured, his voice low and a little tense.

“Something I-“ he sucked in a breath. “Does Tony have a- a goatee?” Bruce looked up at Thor desperately, then shook his head again, as if the memory had already faded. Thor felt like leaping, this tiniest shred of good tidings filling his heart.

“Yes! Yes, Tony has a goatee! Bruce try to focus on that, try to-“ Thor didn’t finish, interrupted by a choking grunt from Bruce, who thrashed against the tree trunk twice, cried out, and began to transform, his bones popping and muscles shifting as his skin stretched into poison green. Thor jumped back and summoned Mjölnir, but there was no threat. When Hulk fully emerged, he only looked at Thor tiredly, then slumped back against the tree trunk, causing the whole thing to shake a sway as he thumped his head back on it and closed his eyes.

Thor watched for a long, quiet, tense minute, before approaching. 

“Hulk? Do you remember me?” he asked quietly. Hulk cracked open his eyes in a weary, very Bruce-like gesture, and after a long pause during which he seemed to study Thor very closely, Hulk nodded once.

“Banner scared. Hulk come out when Banner scared,” he rumbled in a soft, exhausted voice. Thor regarded him with an appraising eye, his mind working quickly. 

“You remember? Yet he does not?” He asked. Hulk let his head fall back against the tree.

“Hulk confused. But remember.”

Thor approached Hulk closer, hanging Mjölnir from his belt. 

“Why did you attack us at the tower?” Thor murmured, standing next to Hulk’s knee. Hulk didn’t open his eyes, but sighed heavily.

“Scared…”

“You know we are not your enemies, my friend…” Thor began softly, laying his hand on Hulk’s knee. Hulk looked down at him, and his expression was a chaotic, heartbreaking blend of exhaustion, fear, confusion, and guilt.

“…For Tinman.”

_Oh._

“Tony will be here soon, my friend,” Thor said gently, as he sat next to Hulk and leaned against the tree as well, offering companionship. “Until then, I will help you protect Bruce. You may both rest.” Hulk grunted, but said nothing, and they sat in companionable silence for a long time, until Thor looked over and watched his friend becoming pinker and smaller, until Bruce lay crumpled and unconscious in a rumpled, dirty pile, shivering among the pine needles. Thor sighed and placed a heavy hand on Bruce’s shoulder, before removing his zip sweatshirt and draping it over Bruce’s thin body.

He let his head thump back against the tree. 

And he waited.

 

____________________________________

 

_The setting sun reflected off the ocean, sending little sparks of white-hot light dancing over the Malibu kitchen, the whispering sigh of water sliding over sand filling the room, but not loudly enough to cover Tony’s humming, some melody line from some rock song, in a smoky baritone that most people never had the pleasure of hearing. Bruce watched a little muscle in the back of Tony’s arm twitch as he lifted the hem of his black tank top to wipe his mouth, a sliver of his belly still exposed when he let it fall, as he set down the knife and lifted his peanut butter and jelly sandwich to his perfect lips. Bruce pushed off the door and slid up behind Tony silently, causing the other man to jump, then grin, as Bruce’s arms circled his waist and he pressed a soft kiss below his ear._

_“Tinman…” Bruce whispered._

_“Green Bean,” Tony replied around a mouthful of peanut butter, leaning back comfortably against Bruce’s chest and resting a hand over Bruce’s._

_“Thank you for being so patient with me,” Bruce breathed, as he trailed his lips down over the curve of Tony’s shoulder. Tony chuckled._

_“For what now? All I’m doing is eating a sandwich, I mean, it doesn’t require a lot of effort on my part-“_

_“No,” Bruce interrupted. “I mean about… me._ Us. _Waiting until I’m ready. Which…” Bruce hesitated, feeling around inside him once more, for his tightly reigned control with which Tony had helped him so much. He hugged Tony tighter, sliding his hands down to Tony’s hips, pulling him back against his own. “…Which I am._ We are. Ready, I mean…”

_Tony’s hand froze midway to another bite of sandwich, and he abandoned it on the counter as he slowly turned in Bruce’s arms, resting his hands on Bruce’s hips, searching his hazel eyes._

_“Ready? As in_ ready, _ready?” he breathed, his eyes wide as he licked a crumb off his lips, which Bruce watched intently._

_“Yeah._ Ready _ready.”_

_“You sure?”_

_Bruce bit his lip and ducked his head as a wide grin lit his features._

_“You have no idea…” he breathed into the small space between them, then lunged in, closing that distance as he hungrily kissed Tony, a tsunami of repressed need and denied affection and desperate desire exploding out of him and crashing over them both with unreserved joy and anticipation._

_“Slow… slower, Bruce, we should enjoy this…” Tony panted as Bruce frantically divested him of his shirt. Bruce bent to lavish kisses across Tony’s throat and collarbone and chest._

_“I_ am _enjoying this. Since when are you the unhurried lover?” he replied softly, his hands sliding up Tony’s throat to cup his cheeks. Tony laughed softly and leaned in to kiss the tip of Bruce’s nose._

_“Since I fell in love with you and subjected myself to voluntary abstinence, I guess. C’mon,” he whispered with sparkling eyes, and took Bruce’s hand, leading him to the sun-drenched master bedroom. Bruce paused at the threshold, squinting; the light from the setting sun was so saturated in yellow, that Bruce would forever associate the color with the happiness he felt right this moment._

_Tony pulled him in like a siren, kissing him hotly, before his nimble fingers began to delicately unbutton Bruce’s shirt, pushing it off his shoulders and following its path with tracks of kisses. Now that they were there, in the room, and this was really going to happen, Bruce found himself frozen, rooted to the spot as Tony slowly undressed them both, bathing his body in sweet kisses and tender nibbles. Bruce’s eyes were shut, and all he could see was yellow light behind his lids, no traces of green at all, and he sucked in a breath when Tony pressed their bodies together and the warmth and softness made him want to melt._

_“Still doing okay?” Tony whispered, sliding a hand down to palm Bruce’s erection. Bruce nodded jerkily, then huffed a nervous, shaky laugh, finally opening his eyes to drink in everything about Tony._

_“Yeah…. I’m just…” he waved his hands vaguely. Tony chuckled._

_“It’s ok, I know. We know you can do this, okay? You just gotta trust yourself,” he murmured, taking Bruce’s wrists and guiding them so Bruce’s hands were resting on Tony’s hips. Bruce leaned in to press his lips to Tony’s, savoring how warm and soft they were, with lingering sweetness from his peanut butter sandwich._

_“Thank you, Tony…” he whispered against Tony’s mouth, grateful to this man for more than he could ever hope to express. Then he turned them so he could press Tony down into the soft mattress, settling over him with a blissful sigh._

_And they touched every part of each other’s bodies, kissing hungrily, exploring lovingly, going slow and relishing every second of delight, and when Bruce finally pushed into Tony, they both sighed and laughed and Bruce wanted to sob that after so many years, he could finally have this, that Tony had really, truly, given his life back to him. They moved together, and every thought in Bruce’s head was Tony. How Tony made him feel like a man again, instead of a monster. How Tony treated him like a treasure, rather than a disease. How Tony always made Bruce feel like the most important presence in his life, as though Tony would willingly wipe himself out of existence, if Bruce said it would make him happy._

_How Tony made Bruce feel_ loved.

_He was so close, so close to finally, blessedly, coming; it had been nearly a decade since he’d made love, since anyone had even really touched him, until Tony came along and backed him into a corner and fogged up his glasses and made him think that just maybe he could have something good happen to him once in awhile. But even now, god, even at this exact, perfect, exquisite moment, his fear of the other guy still shadowed his joy, even as he looked at Tony moving under him, all parted lips and flushed cheeks dilated pupils and beads of sweat begging to be licked from the hollow of his throat._

_The closer he got, the slower his thrusts, until he stilled, panting, trembling with desperation and despair. His heart raced; he could feel the other guy in his mind, pushing, roaring, thrashing behind the mental wall Bruce kept rigidly in place. Trying to break free, trying to see, trying to eliminate the cause of this surge of adrenaline that coursed like fire in his veins. Specifically, the cause who happened to be writhing in ecstasy under him at this very moment. Bruce dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut._

_“Dammit…” he breathed, “I can’t… I- I can’t…” and his whisper was tragic and frightened, as a visceral mental image of the other guy exploding out of him and ripping Tony apart under him seared through his mind. Tony’s wanton moaning and thrusting stopped immediately, his sharp eyes searching for Bruce’s as he slid his hands up to find Bruce’s face._

_“Shhh, no, Bruce, don’t do that, don’t lose yourself in your head like that, okay? Look at me, breathe with me, just like we practiced, come on.” Tony breathed slowly, holding Bruce’s face in his hands and looking at him earnestly. “You can’t shut him out, this is for both of you. Let him enjoy it too, let him know you’re not in danger. Just like we practiced.” Tony’s voice was a soothing murmur, and it vibrated through Bruce’s chest as he tried to match Tony’s slow breathing, eventually opening his eyes, and he could see the poisonous green reflected in Tony’s wide eyes._

_“Tony, what- what if…” he whispered, and Tony raised his head and cut him off with a kiss._

_“Don’t. We’ve been over this. We’ve practiced. He knows; he knows I’m not hurting you. Just go slow. Breathe with me, okay?” Tony whispered against Bruce’s mouth, then rolled his hips gently in an invitation to move again. And after a brief hesitation, Bruce did._

_And oh,_ god… _it was years and years of want and need, magnified and duplicated and multi-faceted, and Tony’s piercing eyes held his and were so filled with abject adoration and utter devotion, that Bruce almost felt unworthy. When Tony came, the warmth spreading between them, he didn’t even close his eyes as his breath hitched and body spasmed, hungrily drinking in Bruce’s entire spirit._

_“B-Bruce…” Tony whispered, and his skin was so bright and yellow from the setting sun and the white-hot, shimmering reflections off the ocean, that even the glow of his arc reactor was hardly visible._ There was just so much yellow. _Bruce laughed softly because he remembered that yellow was his favorite color._

_Then Tony smiled at him, and he was_ so beautiful. 

_And Bruce was_ so happy.

_Bruce’s breath hitched and he felt like his heart would stop and he could feel the other guy’s watchful attention, all of it focused on Tony. And that’s when Bruce finally felt free, and let the pleasure overwhelm him, crying out against the curve of Tony’s neck, hardly a coherent thought in his head except that he could hardly believe it had finally happened, that they’d waited so long and he’d been so scared and it had_ finally happened.

_“Tony… god, Tony, I love you, I love you so much, I love you…” Bruce whispered almost incoherently, his forehead pressed hard against Tony’s collarbone, and Tony rubbed his hands up and down Bruce’s back and Bruce wanted to weep at how wonderful and overwhelming it felt. Tony kissed him tenderly on the temple, his lips lingering hot and damp against Bruce’s skin._

_“I love you too, Bruce… Don’t you_ ever _forget how much I love you…” Tony whispered back with a soft smile._

 

____________________________________

 

_“Tony…”_ Bruce breathed, from his place curled on his side at the base of a tall pine. Thor lifted his head from where he reclined and looked down at him, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

“Awake, my friend. You are safe,” Thor murmured. Bruce jumped, startled, but didn’t move, except to crane his head weakly to peer up at Thor blearily. His eyes were already glazed blankly, as though he were clutching onto a rapidly fading dream. However, he said nothing, his head slumping back to the side as he sighed and let his eyes slide closed. Thor frowned.

“Bruce?” he murmured, shaking Bruce’s shoulder gently. There was a long silence, and he felt a tense shudder ripple through Bruce’s body, under the sweatshirt. 

“…Who?” 

Thor moved quickly around the kneel in front of Bruce, holding his chin to tip his face up, studying his dazed expression and exhausted eyes.

“You. You are Bruce. Do you remember _nothing_ of our earlier conversation? Anything at all?” he murmured, worried.

Bruce stared for a long minute, as if trying to process what was being said to him, trying to search within his head for fleeting ghosts of memories. A crease formed between Bruce’s brows and he reached one hand up to clutch Thor’s wrist as fearful realization dawned in his eyes, but all he did was minutely shake his head. 

“What happened?” he breathed weakly, then his eyes rolled up and his hand fell limply to the ground, and Thor knelt over his unconscious body with a sinking heart.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say thank you to everyone sticking through with me while I was sick and couldn't write, and for all the loving, supportive messages I got along the way that kept me going, working on this a sentence at a time if I had to. You all are precious to me, and to all fic and art creators. Thank you! (especially you, Jezi-Belle!).
> 
> Everything is currently finished, so I'll be updating chapters once a week until it's all done! No more hiatuses! Yay!

Tony made quick work of strapping in the Mark XII in the cargo hold of the Quinjet, pulling off the helmet of his own Mark XI, setting it aside as he pulled out a tablet to check power levels on the modified RT. So far, so good. Maximum power reserves intact, no drain on the main cell, since they weren’t going on an extended flight to get to Bruce. Tony slumped onto the utilitarian, fold-down bench with a mechanical whine, flipping through all the stats for the tenth… or hundredth time. 

“Tony, you’ve already checked everything, it’s going to be-“ Steve started, sitting on the bench as well, when he was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Clint closed the hatch at the Quinjet lifted from the rooftop, and everyone in the small cabin fell silent to listen. 

“This is Steve… Thor, what- we’re on our way. An hour, tops-“ Steve said, then abruptly sat up straighter, causing Tony to whip his head around and watch him intently. “You’re sure? Yeah, we’ve got supplies here… okay… Okay, see you soon.” Steve shoved his phone back in his pocket and turned to Tony without preamble.

“Thor’s lost track of how many times Bruce has Hulked out. He’s weak, maybe too weak to change again. Thor spoke to him while he was Hulk. Hulk is confused, but remembers, and recognizes that Bruce doesn’t.” Steve paused, clenching his fists on his knees. “Each time he Hulks out... he, uh, he’s forgetting himself when he wakes up. Thor spoke with him, and when he came back after changing, didn’t remember having ever seen him before. He did say your name though, like he was dreaming, but didn’t remember anything after that.”

Tony paled, the implications sinking in. If Bruce were… essentially hitting the reset button every time he Hulked out, forgetting everything all over again… Shit. Tony stood abruptly, gripping one of the straps bolted to the wall until the metal rings whined, trying to keep the panic down, trying not to pace. He looked at the Mark XII, strapped innocently in an alcove, and felt hope draining away.

“So what you’re saying is this damn thing might not even work, that he could get some of his memories back, but lose them all again as soon as he Hulks out?” Tony bit out, savagely gripping his tablet with no care to if he broke it. It was a possibility that he’d been denying from the very start, refusing to accept that Bruce not getting his memories back was anywhere close to a possibility. And now… he had no idea really if this device would work, they literally were crossing their fingers and hoping for the best here. 

Tony’s lips were a thin line and his jaw twitched as he dropped the tablet onto the hard bench, not even noticing the shattered screen as he turned away to check the Mark XII for the hundredth time.

____________________________

“Bruce. Wakey-wake, Shake-N-Bake,” Tony murmured, kneeling awkwardly in his armor next to Bruce’s ravaged and weary body, facemask up and one gauntlet lying in the grass so he could pat Bruce’s cheek. “I know you’re not gonna remember me, just open your eyes.”

Bruce groaned, cracking his eyes a tiny slit, staring blearily in whatever direction they happened to be pointed. Tony tipped his chin, and Bruce was completely unresisting.

“Hey. It’s Tony. We’re… friends. You could say. Uh… Anyway, you don’t remember me. And I don’t have time for you to have a freakout right now, so Big Guy, I know you’re in there and you can hear me, look, ok? It’s Tinman. I’m gonna help, I promise. But you can’t come out, no matter what. He’s gonna get scared, and if you come out, this won’t work. Ok?” Tony murmured, holding Bruce’s face and looking hard into his eyes for any sign that Hulk understood. Bruce just blinked at him dully.

“Did he hear? Is he gonna smash us all once this shindig gets going?”

“Jesus, Clint, shut up, I don’t know,” Tony muttered, looking up as Steve knelt next to him, resting a hand on Bruce’s cheek. 

“Dammit…” Steve murmured, a deep frown between his brows as he took in how dazed Bruce looked. “Bruce, it’s Steve, can you understand us?” He bent and slid an arm under Bruce’s shoulders, and he and Tony helped him sit up. Tony reached for the navy wool SHIELD-issue blanket that Natasha offered, and Steve wrapped it tightly around Bruce’s shoulders as Clint slipped away to the Quinjet. Bruce swayed, reaching up to clutch weakly at the blanket around him as he blinked and tried to focus. 

“I don’-“ he slurred, licking his cracked lips and trying again. “Who are you? Wha’ happened?” He flicked his eyes up and squinted at Tony, tilting his head to the side as though maybe something about him was familiar, but hardly more than a vague and uneasy sense of déjà vu. Tony stroked the dirty curls off his forehead gently. 

“There was an accident, you lost your memory, but we’re here to fix you right up, ok?” he murmured. Bruce stared for several long moments, before nodding. Tony’s gut twisted at that, how Bruce just acquiesced; no questions, no fights, no struggling to get away. If ever there was an indication that they needed to hurry, this was it. Tony rubbed Bruce’s back in small circles, moving a bit when Clint jogged up, opening a bag slung over his shoulders. 

“C’mon Bruce, bottoms up,” he murmured, pressing a large water bottle in Bruce’s hands, and it was the first spark of recognition they’d seen yet. He gripped it with both hands and drained it like a drowning man gasping for air, then pushed it back at Clint as he wiped his mouth on the back of his trembling hand.

“More.”

“Yeah, in a minute, drink this first,” Clint said with a half grin, taking the bottle and giving another one to Bruce, filled with a thick, sweet, nutrient-dense meal replacement that would ordinarily be the equivalent of five or six meals. Bruce drained that too, with another half a bottle of water, before he finally pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, then blinked up at them once more, his eyes much clearer.

“Anyone care to tell me what’s going on, now that I’ve been fed and watered?” he said with his usual dryness. The tension in Tony’s gut eased slightly, hearing Bruce’s sardonic tone. He hoped that the fact that Bruce hadn’t Hulked yet meant that the Other Guy heard him earlier.

“Well, short version is that I’m Tony, you’re Bruce, and you had all your memories knocked out by an alien weapon, and I’m gonna have to blast you with a robotic suit of armor to get it back, and you’re gonna have to not transform into a green were-beast while I do it,” he said, all the stress and exhaustion crumbling his last shreds of tact, even as Bruce’s eyes went wide and his shoulders rigid. Steve groaned and scrubbed his hand over his face.

“Tony…. Not helping…”

Tony shrugged, his eyes tight around the edges and frown carved deeply into his brows as he kept his eyes on Bruce. 

“I promise you, the more detail I give you, the worse it’ll sound. Now up and at ‘em, it’s time for me to fix you,” he said flatly, already sliding into a fractured state of masked emotional instability. He and Steve helped Bruce stand, and Bruce was already pulling back a little, and Tony didn’t know he could die inside any more than he already had. 

“What do you mean, ‘you have to blast me?’ What is that? What are you going to do?” Bruce asked in a tight, suspicious voice, clutching the blanket closely around him, stiffening where Tony and Steve’s arms held his shoulders. Tony reluctantly gestured, and the Mark XII walked close, standing like a sentinel before Bruce, emotionless and inhuman with its cold blue eyes and even colder pulsing chestpiece. 

“I mean I have to blast you. With an energy beam that we designed together that will corral your memories and force them back into your consciousness,” he said, and his voice was hollow. Tony felt like he was treading water, and he could feel Steve’s watchful gaze, supportive, yet cautious. Bruce was already shaking his head before Tony had finished speaking, pushing weakly at Steve’s arm. 

“Oh no, no, no no…. I don’t think that’s gonna work…” he mumbled trying to get away. “I don’t even know who you people are! You’re- what the hell are you even? Some kind of robot? No. Let me go,” he said a little louder, pushing harder at their arms. Tony gave Steve a wretched look, and neither of them yielded, and Bruce began to panic. 

“Let me go, goddammit!” he shouted, struggling, and Tony moved aside as the Mark XII stepped in and gripped Bruce by the upper arms, pushing him a few feet back so Bruce was pressed into the rock face where Thor had previously hid. The Mark XII held Bruce against the wall by strong armored hands, and he fought viciously, for having been so weak before. “What are you doing to me?!” He screamed, kicking his bare feet futilely against the unmovable gold-titanium alloy. 

“Sir, shall I begin the countdown?” Jarvis calmly asked through the comms.

Tony didn’t answer, his words withering into nothing like ash in his throat as he watched Bruce struggle in terror. He imagined himself against that rock face, confused and scared with an angry, cold face of the armor standing over him, holding him down for god-knows-what. Tony found himself shaking his head, blood pounding in his ears.

“No. No… Jarvis, let him go. Let him go!” Tony said, his strained whisper growing into a shout. Jarvis obeyed and Steve whirled on him as Bruce darted for the trees, the blanket fluttering to the ground behind him. 

“Tony, what the hell do you think you are doing?!” Steve yelled, and gestured at Thor. “Bring him back! Now!” Steve watched Thor disappear after Bruce, then went to Tony, who backed away from him, still staring at the spot of the wall where Bruce was only moments before.

Tony opened his mouth to say something. He didn’t know what; maybe that he couldn’t do this, or that they could all go to hell. But the sound that came from his mouth was and ugly and twisted laugh. He couldn’t stop himself, and it was loud and bitter and more than a little deranged and definitely deeply haunted. There was absolutely no humor in that laugh, and Tony’s eyes were brittle and shadowed as the air stuck in his throat like nettles and acid. 

Steve stared in shock, his face pale as he shook Tony by the shoulders, his eyes quickly growing fierce. 

_“Tony!_ You need to get a goddamned grip! We don’t do this now, he’s just going to Hulk out again! How many more times do you think he can do that? It’s only going to get worse if you wait; we didn’t come all this way and go to all this effort just to let him down now. I swear I will carry you back to the Quinjet under my arm if I have to,” he threatened. The ugly sound in Tony’s throat became tight and strained, until it was little more than wheezing gasps as his skin crawled with the need to escape. Tony pushed Steve away and pressed his palms to his own helmeted head, as if he could pull at his own hair through the armor.

 _“I KNOW!_ Goddammit, _you think I don’t realize that?”_ Tony spat. The sounds of Bruce shouting fearfully for help from behind a stand of trees where Thor cornered him echoed in his head, and he knew he would hear them in his nightmares for the rest of his life. Tony whirled at the sound of Thor crashing through the underbrush with his arms wrapped around Bruce, who was kicking and biting like a feral animal. Tony knew Steve was right as he watched Bruce, the poison green in his eyes giving away the immense stress he suffered. Tony pushed past Steve and went to Thor. He may have needed the team’s help, and they might be by his side for all this, but this part? 

This was all on Tony. 

He strode to Thor and wrapped his armored arms around Bruce and shoved him into the wall, and the Mark XII stepped up and held him fast, as before. 

“Jarvis, initiate 30-second countdown, now!” he shouted over Bruce’s hoarse screams, then turned to the others, waving his arms as if shooing them away. 

“Go! Get the fuck out of here, you need to be at 500 hundred yards or inside the Quinjet when it blows!” He shouted. They all winced as the high-pitched whine of the RT began to fill the valley, sending birds flying, and Thor made a sharp gesture. 

“No! Tony, we shall remain by your side in solidarity!” Thor boomed even as Clint and Natasha began to retreat toward the Quinjet, not forgetting even for a moment that weren’t powered up like Thor or Steve. Tony shook his head and planted his palms on Thor’s unmovable chest, pushing at him as if that might make him leave. 

“I said get the fuck out! You saw what this did to the chamber in the tower, you helped me design the damned thing, you know the power output! When the-“ 

_“Tinman…”_

Tony froze, his face going slack when he saw Bruce. He still struggled, but his fingers were tinged with green, and dented into the armor as if it were made of foil, not gold-titanium alloy. But it was Bruce’s face. His expression was betrayed, pleading, and belonged more to Hulk than to Bruce.

“Tinman…” he rumbled again, then Bruce thrashed and cracked his head hard against the rock wall. Tony spent exactly half a second realizing what it must look like for Hulk, trying to stay inside for Tony while an emotionless robot held Bruce down and terrorized him. 

_“Fifteen seconds… fourteen… thirteen…”_ Jarvis continued to count, and Tony moved like lightning. 

“Jarvis! Open up the Mark XII, I’m going in! And get Clint and Nat out of here, for fuck’s sake!” he shouted as the front of his own armor peeled open and he jumped out, running into the Mark XII as it opened for him. The Mark XI reassembled and immediately launched into the air, looping around to catch Clint and Natasha around the waist, and burst out of the clearing to safety in a wake of repulsor energy and shouted protests. 

In the suit, Tony shook Bruce’s shoulders and raised his faceplate, so Bruce (Hulk) could see his face, and he knew his expression reflected Bruce’s, right down to the wetness on his cheeks. 

“Bruce! Goddammit, it’s me! I promise, I’m trying to help, I’m not trying to hurt you on purpose…” Tony shouted, his voice whipped away by the piercing whine of the RT powering up. Bruce’s eyes focused on Tony’s with laser-like intensity, and Hulk’s presence seemed to retreat a bit, putting trust in Tony that Tony didn’t feel like he deserved.

_“Seven… six… five…”_

Tony turned his head to Thor. 

“Jesus Christ Thor, _GO!”_ he screamed, and Thor hesitated for only a moment, before nodding and spinning his hammer, grabbing Steve around the waist and soaring into the sky. Tony turned back to Bruce and the only thing he could think was that this might be the last time he would ever see Bruce, and all he was doing was hurting him. 

“Please! Let me go, I swear, I don’t even know what I did…” Bruce sobbed, pleading, his green-tinged fingertips peeling at the outer plating of Tony’s armor. 

_“Three… two…”_

“I’m so sorry, Bruce…” Tony breathed, his voice swallowed by the whine of the RT. He lunged in and pressed a searing, desperate kiss to Bruce’s lips, then slammed the faceplate closed.

_“…One…”_

There was a flash of brilliant purple, and Tony and Bruce both froze, paralyzed, and it felt like he was afloat in the wormhole again, gazing at the galaxy. Pebbles and brush hovered around them in a moment of sudden and eerie silence, the entire universe holding its breath, waiting...

Waiting... 

Then in an abrupt, powerful exhalation, the valley was consumed by an enormous pulse of blinding white, and Tony felt like his very DNA had just been forcibly pushed from his body. 

And all either of them knew was pain.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce's memories suddenly have a home to which they can return. And the memories most pleasant to re-live... well, those are the ones that remind Bruce all over again why he fell in love with Tony in the first place...

“All right, where to, Doctor Banner?” Tony said cheerfully, flashing a brilliant smile that became an amused chuckle when Bruce haplessly tried to imitate Tony’s smooth leap into the maroon Audi convertible, fumbling his bag as he fell all over himself, instead. 

“Port Authority, please,” Bruce said, straightening himself and shoving his duffel down by his feet, ignoring Tony’s laugh.

“Still with the Port Authority bullshit? And here I thought I’d convinced you to stay in the tower…” Tony said with mock confusion, slamming the car into gear and screeching out of the park, leaving the rumble of Steve’s bike and hum of reporters behind them. Bruce rested his arm on the door, picking absently at the button of his yellow shirt that Tony had given him, thinking about when Tony had barged into his obscenely sumptuous guest room that morning with a stack of clothes, paying no attention to the fact that Bruce was in a towel and still dripping from the shower. 

“Just some extras I’ve got laying around in the closet, you can’t go around in ripped up, hand-me-down Dickies from some Long Island security guard, not when there’s press involved. Goddammit, Banner, put the wallet down, ok? You’re not paying me, they’re just clothes, for fuck’s sake,” Tony had said as he bustled about Bruce’s room with his armful of items, stunning Bruce into silence. This “throwaway” yellow shirt with the tags still on cost more than the average annual household income of his entire province back in Rocinha. It didn’t even have a loose thread to tug on absently. Bruce tugged on a button while Tony smoothly navigated traffic.

“It’s better if I move on, Mr. Stark,” Bruce said quietly, letting his head fall back on the head rest as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the wind and sunshine and company of someone who weren’t afraid of him. 

“Bullshit.”

Bruce lifted his head, looking at Tony, who drove as casually as he walked, reclined like a prince in his seat, arm hanging over the door, surfing his palm slowly up and down over the air currents. Bruce watched, mesmerized, for several moments, before shaking his head. 

“Pardon?”

“Bullshit. It’s not better if you move on, it’s just habit. What have you got to run from now?” Tony didn’t look at Bruce, just kept surfing that palm. Up. Down. Like the ocean lapping lazily at the shore.

“Uh…” Bruce didn’t immediately have an answer. “Technically I’m still a fugitive…” he began, and Tony cut him off.

“Nope. Not now that Fury’s taken care of things. And definitely not now that Jarvis is in your corner. Try again, Big Guy.”

Bruce frowned, pulling his eyes away from the fluid motion of Tony’s hand, and went back to plucking at the button on his cuff.

“I’m dangerous.”

“Yeah, I bet all those people whose lives you saved are already rallying for your deportation.”

“I’m-“ Bruce started, then held up. He _was_ dangerous, though. And not just because of the other guy. He wasn’t… _right._ He never had been. He was angry, and brittle, and was the embodiment of barely-contained violence and wrath, with an edge of instability and an element of bloodthirstiness that he really liked to deny was there. He wasn’t loved, or loveable, and certainly wasn’t someone who should be trusted in any way. He was a very bad person. “-I’m not a nice guy,” he finished lamely in a quiet voice, his fingers stilling on the button of his shirt. Tony didn’t say anything for a few moments, but when he did speak, his voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Well then, aren’t we just two peas from a pod?” he said, still not looking at Bruce. “Most people would say that a weapons profiteer making bank off the death of millions to be ‘not a nice guy,’ either. We should just have ourselves a nice little slumber party and watch princess movies and braid each other’s hair while we compare body counts and the amount of blood on our hands,” he murmured with an edge of bitterness that Bruce was enormously surprised to hear from someone who took such pains to project an image of absolute charm and immensely inflated ego. Then Tony abruptly dropped his hand and slapped it against the door of the car, and Bruce jumped, startled. 

I, uh… I didn’t mean-“ Bruce started awkwardly. Tony waved a dismissive hand, going back to his undulating movements over the air currents. 

“Forget I said anything. Look, I’m serious here, Banner. Warm bed that’s guaranteed vermin-free, three squares a day, ten floors of candy land, chance to see my handsome mug every day, I don’t know what you’re waffling about,” he said casually. Bruce smiled a small smile to himself and looked down at his lap, twisting his fingers together there.

“Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Stark?” he murmured, and almost laughed when he heard Tony make a choking sound. He glanced up, and Tony was staring at him fully now, his face alight with open amusement.

“Lo! He does have a sense of humor! I’ll have to tell Barton; I do believe I just won that little bet,” he said cryptically, grinning. He pulled up alongside the terminal gates at port authority, navigating the cramped parking lot fluidly. Once parked, he turned in his seat with his knee wedged against the gearshift and gave Bruce a piercing look that made him squirm. Like Tony was looking inside him or something. Bruce felt like he was staring at the surface of the sun. 

“Seriously, Banner. I’m telling you, you can stay. For real. A whole floor, all to yourself. You can work for me, then have the luxury of telling me to fuck off when you find something better. No more running. Just… a _home_ ,” Tony said.

Bruce felt like he was under a microscope. God, he wanted it all so much, but it was too big of a risk. But then, Tony seemed to trust him so much… and stupidly so, his subconscious reminded him. Why was Tony so insistent on pretending the other guy didn’t exist? Wasn’t a threat? That _Bruce_ wasn’t a threat? Bruce shook his head. 

“Mr. Stark, I really do appreciate the offer. This is just better,” he murmured, and opened the door, slinging his duffel over his shoulder. He came around to the driver’s side and extended his hand. “It’s been… _educational_ ,” he said with a bit of a self-deprecating smirk, and Tony took his hand. 

“ _Fun_. I think that’s the word you’re looking for. It’s been _fun_ ,” Tony said, then smirked back. “Better watch out, you might get used to all these fun times, and not want to give them up,” he teased quietly. Bruce dropped his gaze, releasing Tony’s hand.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Mr. Stark,” he said, moving away, but paused when Tony caught his wrist.

“It’s Tony. Call me Tony.”

Bruce stared at the hand on his wrist, then smiled a small, genuine smile when he looked up.

“Thank you, Tony,” he murmured sincerely. Tony released his wrist, but then flapped his hand, his eyes lighting up.

“Wait! I’ve got swag for you!” he said, rooting through the glove box quickly. He reached for Bruce’s hand, and began filling it with things. 

“Newest StarkPhone. No signal necessary, it will connect to any of the SI satellites, no matter where in the armpit of Brazil you are. It’s got a continually rotating routing signal, so your number shows up differently every time you call someone, and it’s chipped for GPS, but look, don’t freak out. No one can access your location, not even me. It’s completely encrypted. The only one who knows where you are is Jarvis, and the only way he’ll tell is if you call him for help. Then I’ll be there as fast as Mach 3 will take me.” He shoved a small piece of what appeared to be glass into Bruce’s hand, which lit up as soon as he touched it. “It’s coded to your DNA, so no one else can use it. I promise it’s the most secure phone on the planet.”

Tony flipped through a stack, then handed Bruce a bundle of papers. 

“I promise you you’re not a fugitive anymore, but here’s papers and passports for just about any place you could want to go, in case you need to do some subversive border-crossing without alerting anyone to your movements. All names and backgrounds are thoroughly fleshed out, held on Jarvis’ servers, and will give you freedom and anonymity anywhere your bitter little heart desires, courtesy of Jarvis. Well, and me, too.”

Tony finally pulled out a thick envelope. 

“Twenty thousand dollars, completely unmarked and untraceable. Jesus, don’t even give me that fucking look, Banner, just take the fucking money and don’t spend it all in one place. I don’t give a damn what crimes against humanity you seem to think you’re responsible for, you deserve to at least have indoor plumbing and clean water, for fuck’s sake,” he said, his voice hard and his eyes determined, daring Bruce to challenge him. 

Bruce stood there dumbly, holding the items in his hands, feeling both overwhelmed and a little cornered. He wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to respond. 

“Mr. Stark, I- I can’t, this is too much,” he started, and Tony cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“I told you, it’s Tony. And I swear to god if you don’t take it, I’m gonna give the money to the first panhandler I see. Now will you quit being obtuse and just accept that it’s okay to let someone be nice to you for a change?”

Bruce looked at him, and he had the sudden, inexplicable urge to throw his arms around Tony and hug him. 

“Thanks, Tony. I don’t- this means a lot to me. This… this really means a lot to me. Uh- see you around?” he said, smiling softly, wondering what it’d be like to stay around and have someone like Tony as a friend. Tony smiled back, and Bruce found himself noticing the way Tony’s eyes crinkled at the corners and how he lifted one shoulder a ducked his head just a bit when he smiled a genuine smile, not at all like the hard, shark-like grin he used to dazzle the press. 

See you around, Banner,” Tony said, and Bruce turned, walking through the doors. He made it about ten steps into the terminal, before he stopped and turned. Maybe Tony was right; maybe he didn’t have to run anymore. Maybe he could live like a hero, and not a monster. Or at least, maybe he could just live as a _person_. He stepped back towards the door, thinking about being able to _work_ again and use his mind, about having a real home and friends and a routine and not having to drink water from a disgusting drainage canal and being respected instead of hunted, then he stopped abruptly and turned around again. 

No. No, it was too big of a risk. Just because the other guy behaved himself this time, didn’t mean he’d do it again. Just because Bruce felt more in control, didn’t mean he really was. He shuffled in an uncertain circle for nearly a minute, before a security guard strolled up to him.

“You lost, mister?”

Bruce shook his head, suddenly decisive.

“No…. not anymore,” he said, then hoisted his bag and nearly ran back out to the parking lot, relieved when he saw Tony’s maroon Audi still sitting in the queue, Tony bent over his phone, tapping absently. Tony didn’t look up, but grinned at his phone when Bruce tossed his bag in and fell gracelessly into the seat, just like before. 

“I knew you’d be back, Banner,” he said, a little bloom of triumph in his voice as he tapped his phone off and shoved it into his pocket, putting the car in gear as if this were the plan the entire time. “I already ordered food for us. You like Thai? What am I saying? Of course you do. It’ll be there when we get home.” Bruce smiled at his lap, shoving the gifts from Tony into his duffel. _When we get home_. He liked the sound of that. 

“Bruce. Call me Bruce,” he murmured. “And… that sounds really nice.”

__________________________________

“Are you sure they don’t need me?” Bruce said, watching the displays on the helicarrier bridge, pacing a rut into the deck as he twisted his fingers together anxiously. Maria Hill sighed, leaning heavily with both hands against a railing, letting her head drop in exasperation.

“Doctor. For the ten thousandth time, it’s recon. The mission calls for finesse, not… bludgeoning,” she said, not lifting her head. Bruce watched the little red dots on the screen move slowly through an elaborate labyrinthine structure hidden in mountains, indicating the trackers on each Avenger. The comm was nearly silent, with only faint whispered commands from Steve and the occasional grunts or heavy breathing as they each variously scaled walls or landed behind surveillance lines.

“I’m picking up a faint signature, on my three o’clock,” Tony murmured through the comms, his voice staticky and metallic. 

“All right… I’m reading you just east of checkpoint beta. Widow, sweep around aft and check for followers, then flank the signature before going in,” Steve whispered. “Hawk and I are on your ten o’clock, moving forward.”

“Acknowledged,” Nat whispered. 

There was absolute silence for a good five minutes, over the comms and on the bridge. Bruce noticed a bead of sweat rolling down Hill’s temple. He realized he’d stopped pacing, rooted to the spot. 

“Wouldn’t mind having Thor around right now… we need to install a ‘get your ass down here and light this place up like Christmas’ hotline on the Bifrost, don’t you-“

“Radio silence, Stark,” Hill bit out quietly, not raising her head. 

Bruce hated it. He hated that Tony was out there without anything between him and potential death besides a few scraps of metal. He worried for them all, of course, he reminded himself once again, quickly checking the other dots, before refocusing on Tony’s. Tony was his closest friend though. He was just worried, was all. 

The tension was so suffocating Bruce thought he might quite literally crawl out of his skin. 

There was a barely-audible intake of breath over the comm.

Bruce and Hill both snapped up their heads.

“We’re not alone,” whispered Nat, then there was a soft clattering and the silence was shattered. 

“EMP’s! Stark, get out of- on the right-“ Nat’s shout was lost in the sound of a struggle, thump after thump indicating her rising body count. 

“I’m almost there!” Tony shouted, and Bruce heard the telltale whine of the boot jets and palm repulsors powering up, and Bruce gripped the railing with green-tinged hands, leaving finger-shaped dents in the metal.

“Tony! Get out of there!” Bruce shouted, and Hill ignored him, busy typing commands into a console. 

“I’ll be fine, Bruce! We didn’t come all this way to- fuck! Widow, they’re-!”

Tony’s message was cut off with the sound of two shots, a strangled noise from Tony’s comm, then the chilling sound of long, protracted screech from Tony that turned Bruce’s gut to ice.

“ _Tony!_ ” Bruce shouted. There was no answer from Tony’s comm, only silence. 

Then Tony’s little red light blinked out on the screen, and Bruce made a noise that had Hill looking at him sharply.

“Hawkeye, check Iron Man! Widow, I’m heading your way!”

“Cap, I’m with Tony, he got hit with a couple EMP’s, suit’s dead, I’m not getting any response from him, I’ve lost sights on the target, manually reinitializing now… and… Got it! Jarvis is en route!” he shouted into the comm, and Bruce was stifling a strangled sound in his throat.

“Maria, send me down there…” he said, practically begging as he wrapped his arms around himself tightly. Hill whipped around and glared at him.

“Banner, shut it, you’re staying. You want to be of use? Go wait in the hangar and help the medics when everyone comes in,” she bit out, and went back to shouting orders, the chaos over the comm line pounding at Bruce’s mind until he tore out of there, running through the corridors to pace in the hangar, the medics cutting him a wide berth. 

In the seconds it took for him to make it to the hangar, the warning siren was already sounding and the bay depressurizing, the long hatch door falling open slowly, and Bruce ran forward, almost laughing in relief when he saw Iron Man fly in, directly towards him. 

“Tony!” Bruce exclaimed, his relief apparent. But his smile fell almost immediately.

“Doctor, it is Jarvis. Sir is in cardiac arrest, please assist,” said the AI tersely through the armor’s voice modulator, and Bruce rushed forward immediately as the armor landed and peeled open, and Tony poured out into Bruce’s arms as fear licked cold and sharp at his insides. 

“Oh god… Tony… _Tony!_ ” Bruce breathed, laying him out on the floor as the medics swarmed. He was jostled out of the way, and fell back, letting them help Tony, ignoring the shouts of the extraction team mustering behind him.

“Everyone clear!” shouted one of the medics, securing electrode pads to Tony’s chest, where they’d cut away his shirt. Bruce’s brain felt slow and sluggish as he stared in shock. All he could think was that they’d cut up Tony’s shirt, and that Tony would be upset; it was a rare original from Led Zeppelin’s final European concert tour in 1980, and it was soft and worn and faded and one of Tony’s favorites, and he only wore it on days when he was really down or felt like he was catching a cold, and Bruce had shared his tea with him this morning because he said he had a scratchy throat and he had touched Tony’s back and remembered how warm his skin was through the soft, thin cotton-

“ _Clear!_ ”

Bruce jolted when the defibrillator discharged and Tony arched off the ground, and the chaotic shouting a wash of ocean current around him, loud and pressing and unintelligible, filling his lungs and mouth so he couldn’t breathe, curling like shards of ice in his gut. 

“ _Clear!_ ”

Tony arched again. Bruce stared, frozen.

They cut up Tony’s favorite shirt. They cut it up.

It was gone.

Bruce choked back a frantic noise.

____

“Jesus… why does it feel like someone punched me in the chest?”

Bruce startled awake, sucking in a breath and hastily wiping a string of drool from his lip, where he had his face pressed into the hospital bed next to Tony’s hip. He looked around in confusion, and the first thing he noticed was that Tony was watching him with half-lidded, curious interest. The second thing he noticed was that he was holding Tony’s hand. Very tightly. Bruce gave Tony a half-smile, not letting go of his hand. 

“Well, Steve was all out of punching bags, and you were just laying there, so…” Bruce said dryly, straightening his glasses and not quite meeting Tony’s eyes. Tony coughed lightly, wincing.

“You couldn’t have woke me up, let me have a swing at the old man?” Tony said hoarsely, pushing at the bed with a grunt, trying to sit up. Bruce immediately stood and fluttered over him, but didn’t let go of Tony’s hand, and Tony eyed Bruce while the man fluffed his pillow and fussed for a moment. 

“So you wanna tell me what’s going on here?” Tony asked quietly, and Bruce flushed, busying himself with checking Tony’s vitals on the screen. 

“Mission was a success, just barely. You got hit with a couple EMP’s, and went into cardiac arrest, and…” Bruce said, trailing off when Tony pointedly held up their clasped hands. 

“Not what I meant, Green Bean,” Tony said, and his voice had a softness to it that made Bruce ache. 

“I-“ Bruce withdrew his hand and awkwardly crossed his arms over himself. “You were on the comms and you went down, and I- I panicked, and thought what if you had been really hurt, and I couldn’t-“ Bruce stammered out, and he could see Tony’s wide grin out of the corner of his eye and wanted to swat him for being so cavalier. 

“Look, I was really worried about you, okay? Tony, _your heart stopped!_ This is serious! I thought I’d lost you!” Bruce blurted out, and Tony’s tired face was alight with glee as he reached out for Bruce’s hand again. 

“And you were just so broken up at the thought that you’ve sat vigil by my bed ever since?” he said, and Bruce huffed.

“Of course, Tony, you’re my- my best friend, I wouldn’t just-“ 

“Mm-hm,” Tony hummed smugly, his eyes closing as he settled back into the pillows, squeezing Bruce’s hand. Bruce scowled.

“Stop it, I’m being serious,” he said, and Tony nodded, already half-asleep from exhaustion. Bruce balanced on a knife’s edge for a moment, his foot bouncing incessantly, and all in a rush, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s lips before he lost his nerve. Tony’s eyes flew open and his breath went still, and Bruce pulled back just enough to look into Tony’s eyes. This was the first time he’d seen them this close up, and was surprised to see little flecks of green and gold sparkling in his amber irises. 

“Don’t ever scare me like that again, Tinman,” Bruce whispered, and Tony snapped his slack mouth shut, that smug little grin pulling at the corner of his mouth, everything about him appearing suddenly relaxed and at peace.

“Anything you say, Green Bean,” Tony whispered, and pulled a willing Bruce back down for another kiss.

____________________________________

Bruce balanced a tray of food in one hand and keyed in his entry code with the other, waiting while Jarvis smoothly slid the doors to Tony’s workshop open.

“Hey! Tinman!” Bruce called over the loud music, and across the workshop, Tony’s hunched figure jumped a little and straightened. Bruce could hear Tony’s back popping despite the music, and he smiled when Tony turned and give him a tired grin.

“Morning, Greenbean. Or is it evening? I lost track,” Tony said, rubbing his eyes and swinging a monitor out of the way so he could stand and stretch, waving a hand for Jarvis to turn down the music. 

“It is precisely 8:54 pm,” Jarvis supplied helpfully, and Tony saluted the nearest camera with a yawn. Bruce set the tray down nearby, worrying over the bags under Tony’s eyes and the way he moved so stiffly, having worked far too long on his project for the team.

“Meaning,” Bruce said firmly, pulling a chair over and making Tony sit, “It’s been more than 14 hours since you’ve had a real meal other than all this junk food you keep stashed around here, and I don’t care how close you think you are to fixing whatever it is you’re fixing, you’re taking a break.” Bruce pulled the cover off the tray, revealing a plate filled with lasagna and buttery garlic bread and a slice of cake. He waggled his brows at Tony with a grin. “You wouldn’t deny a man who slaved over a hot stove for you, would you?” he teased. Tony’s eyes lit up when he saw the spread, and he quickly tucked the corner of the napkin into the neck of his tank top.

“Oh god, this looks great, babe, thanks,” he said, rubbing his hands together as he yawned again, his stomach audibly growling. “Why do you take such good care of me all the time?” Bruce just shook his head and grinned at his own plate.

“Someone’s got to; you’re too busy looking after the team to look after yourself,” he said, noticing out of the corner of his eye how Tony ducked his head the way he did when someone pointed out how much he helped others. “Besides, I think you’re hungry enough that even that god-awful microwaved cheese on toast concoction of yours would probably taste pretty good about now,” he said, and Tony pointed his fork at him. 

“Hey, don’t knock the quasi-grilled cheese on toast,” he said indignantly, and Bruce couldn’t help but laugh. Tony scowled. “It’s both delicious and nutritious,” He protested. Bruce just rolled his eyes.

“Somehow I highly doubt that,” he said, eating some of the garlic bread. Tony stuffed a forkful of lasagna in his mouth, and groaned obscenely.

“Holy fuck, this. This right here. This is why I love you so much,” he blurted out, and Bruce’s eyes snapped up, both of them frozen with forks halfway to their mouths. Tony instantly looked like a deer in headlights, and Bruce’s stomach flip-flopped as he gulped his bite of food. 

“You-“ he started, but Tony was already waving his fork, resolutely not meeting Bruce’s eyes. 

“I mean, you know, as a social _construct,_ and things like making me food, and-“ he quickly stuffed his mouth with another bite. “-do you use fresh mozzarella? This is great, my mom would’ve been proud. You know, we should go to Italy sometime, the summers are scorching, but the wine is worth it, I have a villa-“ he babbled around mouthfuls of food. 

Bruce just watched, an amused and affectionate smirk on his face. How could someone so emotionally constipated be so endearing? He set his plate down and walked around the table, tugging the fork out of Tony’s hand as Tony fell silent, looking up at him warily. Bruce sat in Tony’s lap, and dabbed at the corners of Tony’s mouth with a napkin.

“Tony.” Bruce said softly, looking down at him fondly. Tony gulped.

“Bruce.”

“I love you, too,” Bruce whispered, and leaned down to brush his lips against Tony’s. Tony’s mouth spread into a slow grin and he seemed to melt against Bruce, sliding his arms around Bruce’s waist. 

“Yeah?” he whispered against Bruce’s mouth, and Bruce nodded, feeling hot and dizzy and perfect all over. 

“Yeah,” he whispered back, their dinner forgotten.

_________________________________

Bruce wandered idly around the lounge area of Tony’s workshop, waiting for him to finish whatever it was he was doing. Bruce was vaguely bored, waiting for scans to complete and sort of in between projects at the moment, but too restless to pick up a book or go for a walk. And his restlessness was rather like an itch he couldn’t scratch; he knew what he wanted, but he was resigned to not having it. So instead he came down to the comfort of Tony’s workshop to wander aimlessly and enjoy Tony’s quiet company.

Rock music played softly in the background, and it touched Bruce that Tony always turned it down for him when he came in, knowing the loud noise bothered him. Tony didn’t extend that courtesy to anyone else, often seeming to derive immense amusement from watching Steve and the others try to shout a conversation over the deafening screech of wailing guitar riffs. 

Bruce watched the graceful curve of Tony’s back intently, then sighed and sat on the long, curved, black leather sofa and bounced his leg for a while and watched TV on mute, then got up and rooted in the fridge for a bottle of water. He sighed again and shuffled nearer to Tony, who was soldering something small to something large, his lips pursed as he gently blew the solder smoke away from his face. Tony glanced up as Bruce picked up a random object, turning it over in his hand and placing it back down with another sigh.

“All right, you’re making me nervous. What’s your deal?” Tony asked, watching Bruce and hovering the soldering gun over a piece of wire. Bruce shrugged, turning towards the wall and gazing listlessly at the art hanging there. Big flashy prints of classic cars hung around the workshop, including one of Iron man done in red and teal, and an acoustic guitar hanging in a glass case that looked like it was signed by a dozen famous musicians whose autographs Bruce didn’t recognize. 

“Just bored,” Bruce said, leaning forward to inspect the guitar. 

“So you thought you’d come down to bother me?” Tony said, setting the soldering gun in the cradle and leaning to stretch his back, his spine popping like a string of firecrackers as he groaned. Bruce shrugged again, watching Tony stretch, his eyes on those arms and that sliver of narrow waist that was exposed under the hem of his shirt.

“Am I?” Bruce asked, licking his lower lip absently. 

“What? Bothering me?” Tony replied, raising a brow.

“Yeah.” Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets, already feeling bad.

Tony laughed softly and came around the table, circling his arms around Bruce’s waist. 

“God. You never bother me,” Tony said, kissing Bruce gently. “I could use the break anyway.” Bruce melted against him, smiling into the kiss. 

“Good. I don’t want to distract you from any Important Science,” Bruce teased, then turned to eye the guitar again. “Can you play?” Tony’s gaze followed Bruce’s to rest on the guitar, and a slow grin spread over Tony’s lips.

“Of course I can play,” Tony said, and Bruce turned to look at him with an expression of genuine surprise. 

“Really? I thought it was just a collector’s item,” he said, and Tony laughed. 

“Have you any comprehension of how many music and language lessons I was subjected to as a child, in the interest of a ‘well-rounded’ billionaire’s education?” Tony asked, moving to the glass cabinet and pulling out the guitar. “ _This_ one is a collector’s item, but I have others.” Tony pulled Bruce over to the couch to sit, and folded his legs under himself comfortably as he tuned the instrument with ease. 

“Apparently I grossly underestimated your interest in the performing arts,” Bruce said, biting his lip to hide a smile. Tony only snorted softly, and began to play a smoky blues riff, instantly evoking an image in Bruce’s head of a dimly-lit, nicotine-stained lounge with velvet couches and expensive cocktails. 

“ _How much do I love you? I’ll tell you no lie… How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky?_ ” Tony began to sing, his voice rough and rich, low and sweet and sad all at once. Bruce was entranced. 

“Irving Berlin?” Bruce asked, bemused. Tony laughed softly as he deftly stroked melody from the strings that turned the air dusky.

“Please. Eric Clapton,” he said, smiling up at Bruce, holding his gaze as he sang. “ _How many times a day, do I think of you? How many roses are sprinkled with dew?_ ”

Bruce positively melted, and his blush was embarrassing and vivid.

“ _How far would I travel? To be where you are? How far is the journey, from here to a star? And if I ever lose you baby, how much would I cry? How deep is the ocean, how high is the sky?_ ”

Tony closed his eyes, losing himself in the swaying, aching melody, and just played, letting the music flow over them. His fingers were nimble and danced over the frets, and the guitar sang sweetness that made Bruce’s heart ache. Tony gazed once more into his eyes, and Bruce was captivated by his beauty and talent and how overwhelmingly intense his love for Tony was.

“ _And if I ever lose you baby, how much would I cry? How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky?_ ” Tony sang softly, his voice honeyed warmth that spread through Bruce, his eyes locked onto Bruce’s, deep and sincere. Bruce found himself a little choked, and swallowed hard as Tony trailed off in a velvety sigh.

“Tony, that. It was,” Bruce stammered, at a loss for words. “It was so beautiful, god listen to me, I can’t even make words.” Tony set the guitar aside on the coffee table, and laughed comfortably. 

“If you like it that much, I’ll sing to you all the time,” Tony said, scooting closer and taking Bruce’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Bruce looked down at their hands, and Tony squeezed his fingers. “This okay?” he asked.

Bruce nodded. It was more than okay.

Then he lunged forward and kissed Tony, and was certainly more breathless and wanton than he usually allowed himself. He pulled on Tony insistently, so that Tony straddled his lap and made soft, needy noises into Bruce’s mouth. 

“Bruce… baby, too fast…” Tony mumbled, holding Bruce’s face gently with both hands and kissing him with ferocity borne of months of holding back, of ages spent waiting, wanting. 

“Don’t care,” Bruce growled, his fingers digging into Tony’s hips until Tony winced and cried out softly, and Bruce slid his hands up Tony’s narrow waist and held him there, moving his hips inexpertly against Tony’s, his heart pounding like a hammer. “Sorry…” he whispered, and Tony licked into his mouth.

“Don’t care,” Tony breathed, and Bruce thought of the bruises his would leave, and all at once, heat slid through him, fast and deadly and needy. He gasped with how much he wanted Tony, and how in a pinpoint of acid green irises, he realized he couldn’t have him. Bruce pulled away at once, sucking in a ragged breath. 

“Stop,” he hissed, squirming and backing away from Tony, who dropped his hands and retreated to the other end of the couch instantly. They lay on their respective ends of the couch, chests heaving and eyes staring.

Bruce’s trembling fingers were green. 

“I, uh. Don’t think I’m ready for that yet,” Bruce mumbled ruefully, frustrated and ashamed. Tony panted a few moments longer, then took one of Bruce’s hands and began to massage it tenderly, until the green bled away to tanned peach. 

“It’s okay, babe,” Tony whispered, taking his other hand and doing the same. “I told you I’d wait forever if that’s what the other guy needed me to do, and I meant it.” Bruce glanced meaningfully at the crotch of Tony’s jeans.

“Someday you’ll get tired of waiting,” he said, barely meeting Tony’s eyes. Tony lightly swatted the back of his hand, startling a small laugh out of Bruce.

“Bruce, I love you. So much you don’t even understand. I promise you mean more to me than some one night stand, and someday I hope you’ll actually believe me,” Tony said softly, and tipped Bruce chin up, singing to him again, sweet and gentle. “ _How many times a day do I think of you? How many roses are sprinkled with dew? And if I ever lose you baby, how much would I cry? How deep is the ocean, how high is the sky?_ ” 

Bruce leaned forward, burying his face in Tony’s neck now that they were calmed, and he sighed contentedly when Tony wrapped his arms around him. 

“You’re too good for me,” Bruce mumbled.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tony murmured, combing his fingers through Bruce’s hair, kissing his temple with a feather-light touch. Bruce just sighed against Tony’s collarbone, frustrated and let down. Tony rubbed the nape of his neck lightly.

“Come on, Bruce. It’s okay. We’ll get there eventually, it’ll just take some more time,” Tony whispered, and Bruce looked up at him, pulling back just enough to find himself smiling at all that love in Tony’s eyes. 

“I know,” Bruce said, kissing Tony softly. He gestured to the guitar, brushing his fingers through his wild curls in a hopeless attempt to tame them. “Play for me some more?” he asked sweetly. Tony beamed at him.

“Anything you want, Greenbean,” Tony said, kissing Bruce’s nose and picking up the guitar again.

_________________________________

Tony slammed down the screwdriver, whirling on Bruce, who didn’t back down, hands on his hips.

“I told you, I know what I’m doing!” Tony shouted in frustration, and Bruce only huffed, reaching around Tony and picking up the flimsy piece of metal, slamming it against the table corner so it shattered, brittle. 

“This? _This_ is knowing what you’re doing? Tony, I’m not going to let you go out in that suit, it’ll be a suicide mission!” He shouted back, shaking the fragmented metal in front of Tony’s face for him to see. Tony turned his face away, not wanting to look. 

“It’s not. I need the reduced weight and drag, and this is-“

“Don’t you fucking dare say it’s the only way, there is always another way, and if you’d ever let your friends and team into this little world you live in, you’d realize that you they can help you, and you need them more than you realize!”

Tony whipped his head around to glare at Bruce, his expression like fiery steel. 

“I don’t need anyone!” he spat, and Bruce just arched a brow.

“Oh, not even me, then?” he asked coolly, and Tony visibly deflated and bristled at the same time.

“That’s not what I meant, Bruce,” he said quietly, and Bruce took a step towards him.

“Then what? You don’t need us? You’re just a lone wolf out there, doing what needs to be done, sacrificing yourself for the greater good, being the good martyr that you seem to think you’re supposed to be?” Bruce challenged, and Tony crossed his arms tightly over himself, bunching his shoulders and averting his eyes. 

“It’s not like that, you don’t-“ he started, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Bruce slammed the metal down on the table, shattering what was left.

“Then _what?!_ ” Bruce shouted, gripping Tony by the shoulders, and a flash of fear crossed Tony’s eyes for a moment, before defiance took over. Bruce barreled on. “You’re not going out in that armor, it won’t protect you, and I’ll be damned if the other guy will let you either!” At that, Tony shoved Bruce’s arms away, huffing in frustration.

“What do you fucking care?” he shouted stupidly, and Bruce just gave him a look of incredulous shock, and Tony already looked like he was mentally backpedaling.

“Because I’m stupid enough to love you, that’s why,” Bruce said, his voice hard and tight. “Because you mean more to me than the world and if I let you out in that armor and you got hurt-“ Bruce’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he stepped forward, holding Tony’s face in both hands. “Please, Tony,” he begged softly, and Tony’s eyes closed as he took a deep breath.

“I love you too, goddammit,” Tony whispered, and pressed forward into Bruce’s arms. “Will you please just trust that I know what I’m doing?” he asked, and Bruce shook his head, not letting go of Tony.

“I’ll tell Pepper,” he threated, and Tony pulled back with an offended look on his face. 

“Really? You’re gonna tattle to Pep?” he asked with frustrated tone, and Bruce glared.

“Well, if you plan on going out on a dangerous mission in a suit that won’t get you back in one piece, then yeah. I’m telling Pepper, because she’s still the only damn person you’ll listen to who tells you ‘no.’”

Tony jutted his chin defiantly.

“We’re not even together anymore.”

“Yeah, well, you still value her opinion. When will you start to value mine?”

Tony stared, a muscle in his jaw twitching, but he finally huffed a sharp breath through his nostrils.

“I’ll change the alloy, okay?”

“Thank you, Tinman,” Bruce whispered gratefully as he pulled Tony close, feeling like a heel, but relieved that Tony wouldn’t be putting himself at undue risk. “You have a team now. Let us help you, okay?”

Tony snorted softly against Bruce’s shoulder.

“I don’t play well with others, remember?” he murmured, a bit of smile in his voice. Bruce smiled himself, hidden in the curve of Tony’s neck.

“You’ll learn,” he said softly.

_____________________________________

Bruce looked up when Tony pressed up behind him, slinging his arms over Bruce’s shoulders and kissing him behind the ear.

“What do you think about Paris for Christmas this year?” he murmured, and Tony’s warm breath sent liquid shivers down Bruce’s spine. 

“I thought we were going to stay in,” Bruce said, amused as he turned in Tony’s arms. Tony tugged the mug out of Bruce’s hands and set it aside, kissing the tip of his nose. 

“C’mon, Greenbean. Paris at Christmas is like something from a fairytale. Are you ever gonna let me woo you? You did promise, you know,” Tony reminded him, sliding his hands into the back pockets of Bruce’s jeans. Bruce just laughed softly.

“I suppose I did promise to let you woo me,” he said, polishing his glasses on Tony’s t-shirt. “I guess I just expected to start smaller. Like, I don’t know, love notes and flowers, not trans-continental dates.” 

“Gotta start somewhere,” Tony teased, pressing their foreheads together.

“God, you’re such a romantic sap, I never would have guessed,” Bruce laughed.

“Don’t tell anyone, I’ve got a reputation to uphold,” Tony said archly, and finally closed the distance between them, pressing kisses and ‘I love you’s’ against Bruce’s lips until the sun started to make long shadows against the wall.

________________________________

“What’re- oh my God, Tony, you can’t just walk away and go do something else while you’re making an omelet, that’s why yours always turn out like shit!” Bruce reached out and hooked a finger in Tony’s shirt collar and pulled him back, gently tugging the tablet out of his hands. Tony reached after the tablet, but gave it up when Bruce firmly grabbed his chin and kissed him on the mouth. “Now pay attention, masala omelets are my favorite, I’m personally arming you with the knowledge to bribe me to do just about anything.”

Tony grinned and stood behind Bruce as he poked at the eggs with a spatula, resting his chin on Bruce’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Mmm, anything? I didn’t know mere eggs held such power…” Tony murmured, pressing a kiss just below Bruce’s ear, nuzzling the soft hairs there with his nose. Bruce just huffed a little laugh, flipping his eggs and leaning back against Tony a little.

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” He asked with a small smile, sliding the omelet onto a plate and turning in Tony’s arms to face him. Tony kissed the tip of Bruce’s nose.

“Nope. You’re gonna be so sick of masala omelets by the time I figure out how to make them, that I’ll never be able to bribe you to do anything again,” he said, kissing his way down to Bruce’s lips, fogging up his glasses a little. Bruce only laughed and leaned back a little to pull off his glasses.

“Tony…” he murmured with a little exasperation and a lot of fondness, then leaned back into his arms, omelets forgotten on the counter.

________________________________________

When Tony finally came up with an RT prototype that created a small-scale stable field that they could test in the lab, Bruce almost felt like he needed to faint with relief. He watched Tony take several deep breaths before bringing it to Bruce, and Bruce held it like spun glass and looked at it quietly for a long time. This could be it. This little ball of blue light could get his memories back, get his _life_ back. He ran his finger gently around the metal lock ring, the pale blue light reflecting in his glasses.

“It looks just like yours,” he murmured, comforted by the reassuring glow of Tony’s heart, so similar to what he held in his palms. Tony smiled a little. 

“Yeah…” he put his hands over Bruce’s, the light shining through their fingers, and Bruce couldn’t help but marvel at those long, graceful, nimble fingers that worked such technological miracles. For some reason, the sight of Tony’s hands covering his made his chest feel tight, but he couldn’t even name the emotion. “Bruce… it’s just a prototype, we don’t even know yet…”

Bruce nodded, his grip tightening on the prototype. 

“I know, I just… I’m trying not to let myself hope again.” 

“Me either.”

As they worked over the next few days to calibrate the prototype with robotic precision, Bruce felt more and more like a coiled spring, ready to explode out of his skin. He was terrified of another failure, terrified of being stuck this way. He stayed close to Tony, feeling comfort in his familiar presence, not even realizing the way his body seemed to warm when Tony was near. 

When the prototype was ready for testing and they could no longer delay the trials, Bruce paced his room all night, throwing up at least three times when he dwelled too long on the things that could go wrong. He was pale and uneasy the following morning as well, and quietly requested that no one be present for the procedure but Tony. 

“I just don’t know how I’ll react if it doesn’t work,” he mumbled to Tony as the others left. Tony stood near him, their shoulders touching.

“It’s okay. I feel the same.”

They stood behind the barrier, the prototype set up in an isolation chamber, shielded from the rest of the tower. They checked and re-checked all their calculations and ran everything by Jarvis for what seemed like the millionth time, the tension growing tighter and heavier with each passing hour, until Bruce finally looked up at Tony and nodded. Tony’s mouth was set in a grim line.

“Initiating Alpha prototype trial phase; series one, test one. Vortex burst at 5% of capacity, thirty-second duration. On my mark.” He looked at Bruce, then back through the window of the isolation chamber. “Three… two… one… mark.” 

Immediately the prototype surged brilliant blue, emitting what looked like a shockwave that left a shimmering purple field in its wake. A high-pitched whine reached them through the barrier wall, the pitch growing slowly higher and higher. They watched the swirling colors around the RT in tense silence, not even breathing, until there was a startling flash of white light, and Bruce jerked, making a choking sound. 

“Bruce?” Tony hissed, whipping around just as Bruce lurched forward, clutching unseeingly at the worktable, still making that horrible choking sound. Bruce’s eyes were wide and unseeing, and he tried to speak, but his jaw was locked. 

It felt like he was being electrocuted, like Thor was channeling lightning directly into his skull, and his world bled poison green and smoky black as he clawed at the table. Distantly he could hear Tony shouting and feel him touching his face, but Bruce was frozen, his muscles screaming and the other guy roaring and… memories… 

Bruce clutched at Tony’s arms; he couldn’t breathe, his chest compressed and he couldn’t breathe oh god… he tried to memorize Tony’s terrified eyes as his vision tunneled, and the green faded from his eyes as they rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, unconscious, to the floor. 

It was like millions of scraps of paper blowing in a maelstrom, suffocating him even as he grasped desperately at them, each one a memory, scant handfuls clutched to his chest…   
Bruce took an enormous, gasping breath, his back arching off the floor, and his eyes flew wide open with pupils hardly bigger than pinpricks.   
“Tony… _Tony!_ ” Bruce breathed, sitting bolt upright and looking at Tony in shock. “Paper… I need paper…” he muttered, heaving himself unsteadily from the floor and scrabbling at the worktable, knocking things off in his search. “Paper! I need something to goddamned write with!” he hissed. His head was a chaotic mess of imagery, memories, thoughts… like he’d just jumped from a silent, dark room, into the center of a tornado. God, the memories; they were Tony… they were _all Tony_ …

He took the pencil and paper from Tony with shaking hands, struggling to hang on to the picture in his head as he sketched it out on his knee. Love molecules… had Tony really managed to make him into such a sap? And he thrust the paper at Tony when he was done, looking up at him, his expression surely as incredulous as Tony’s.

Something with the beam worked, he could remember writing a note to Tony, telling him good luck and that he loved him, leaving it stuck to the bathroom mirror before Tony left on a trip to Tokyo for SI business. He remembered little things, like how Tony liked to sleep on his left side, and how he hated when people would erase something on paper then start writing again before brushing the eraser shavings away. He stepped one foot closer to Tony, trying not to hyperventilate.

“Tony, it’s just a few things… this… something about falling while ice skating…”

“Bruce…?” Tony breathed, the apprehension and hope written easily in his eyes. Bruce could already feel some of the memories fading, and he felt his chest constrict. He tried to grasp onto them, but every memory he focused on seemed to sift through his fingers like sand, like trying to hold onto a dream that had already wisped away.

“They’re fading, the memories; I can feel them slipping…” Bruce’s voice was low and frantic. “Tony… I remember…”

He patted his chest, over his heart. The one thing he remembered; the _most important_ thing, the one he _never_ wanted to forget-

“I mean, _I remember us_...”

The love he felt was overwhelming in its intensity, even as it already began to fade. The paper in his hand fell to the floor, forgotten, and he closed the distance between them. Tony was frozen, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as Bruce held his face in both hands and kissed him, trying to put every emotion he’d ever felt into that one gesture, so that Tony understood, without an ounce of doubt, no matter what happened, that Bruce _loved him_.

_______________________________

“Bruce, look at me.”

Bruce stood between the RT and the far wall, his body hunched over, braced for whatever happened, hands balled into fists. He looked up at Tony, tears streaming from the corners of his eyes. Distantly he knew he was being reckless, acting out of dangerous desperation. Tony stared at him, looking utterly wrecked, his hands visibly shaking, the broken fireman’s axe lying on the floor beside him and the team- _his friends_ \- standing by helplessly. The countdown continued calmly.

“ _Twenty… nineteen… eighteen…_ ”

“Bruce…” Tony murmured. “You say you’re doing this because you want us to be us again. Why would you risk so much if you didn’t already feel like we had something worth saving? Why did- are you really trying to tell me that kiss didn’t mean _anything_ to you? _At all?_ ” 

Bruce’s mind shot back to that single, searing kiss that they had during the brief moment when his memories came back. He remembered how overwhelmingly intense his emotions were, but when they faded, robbing him once again, it was like something inside him snapped, and even Bruce found it disturbing the lengths to which he found himself going, just to grasp at those memories again. 

Bruce’s chest ached, clenching at the tremble in Tony’s voice, and his body mirrored the tension in Tony’s when Tony flattened his palm against the glass.

“Bruce, don’t… don’t you love me, even a little?”

Bruce stared at Tony, storms raging behind his poisonous green eyes and muscles in his jaw working. Why was he so desperate? Was it because he had a taste of something worth saving? Or was it because…

“ _Six… five…”_

“ _Please_ …” Tony breathed desperately. Bruce felt sick to his stomach. Something hot and thick burned in his throat, and bittersweet realization flooded him so that he couldn’t breathe. He had to stop this, he had to stop the countdown, even as he was frozen in place…

“ _Four… three…”_

Bruce exhaled sharply, green momentarily fading from his eyes, replaced by a look of clear panic. He had to tell Tony, he had to fix this, to make it right between them. He had to realize that all this time spent working so closely, the casual, reassuring touches, the evenings spent pressed against each other on the couch watching movies and eating carryout, the tentative hand-holding, the warmth he felt in his chest when he was near Tony and the safety and comfort he felt in this place- in his _home_ \- none of it was meaningless. The feelings he had for Tony would never change; they could be taken from him over and over and they would always tentatively blossom with life once more. 

Bruce wasn’t living in a void, he was surrounded by love and compassion and life and it all came from _Tony_ \- Bruce’s throat closed in panic as he lunged toward the RT, one arm reaching in Tony’s direction.

“ _Two_ …”

“Tony, I-“ 

“ _One_.”

The words never even made it out of his mouth.

_Tony, I love you._


	19. Chapter 19

_Bruce, I love you…_

_Tony’s body moved hot under his hands, Tony’s smooth skin catching on Bruce’s rough callouses, their mouths consuming each other…_

_Bruce, don’t ever forget how much I love you…_

_Tony slid into him and Bruce’s breath was stolen, his eyes wide and seeing nothing, as he arched against Tony’s chest and clutched at him in delirious pleasure…_

_Bruce, I’ve never been so happy…_

_Tony scraped his teeth over Bruce’s collarbone as they moved frantically against each other, chasing ecstasy and crying out into each other, pressing bruises into delicate skin and gasping for air…_

_Tony, I love you so much…_

________________________________

The blinding white light from the RT illuminated the clearing like lightning, particles of dust and small rocks hovering eerily in the air, before exploding outward with bone-crushing force. The rock face behind Bruce crumbled like sand, and Tony was thrown like a canon through the trees, leaving a near 20-foot gouge in the dirt where his body skidded to a landing. 

Bruce writhed in the center of the destruction, half between awake and unconscious, as rocks and debris fell through the air like rain. The vortex of his memories whipped around and through him and beat their way into his closed-off mind, latching onto him like hooks and snares, ripping through him to find a home. 

Swirling images of Tony, whispered endearments, the soft warmth of touch and the insistent hot press of sweat and flesh and shouts and cries and whispers and pain and lust and overwhelming intensity like looking at the surface of the sun and never wanting to look away and it filled his ears with screams and ecstasy and confusion and fear and love and the blinding white light focused to a pinprick behind Bruce’s eyes and slammed into him like falling to Earth from the black coldness of space and _everything he ever felt hit him at once…_

Bruce’s eyes flew open, and the first thing he did was roll over and vomit, barely registering the crater of rock rubble that he was laying in or the thick dust that covered him. He heaved and heaved until nothing came out, his head swimming dizzily with blindingly bright flashes of memory and shards of emotion that fought to find a place in his mind. Flashbacks of his mother and father, of the accident, of Betty and the Chitauri and the Avengers and most of all, of Tony swirled in his head and he heaved again. When he finally fell back limply and had the chance to look around, he felt almost too in shock to process what he was seeing. 

The damage around him was breathtaking. Enormous rock facings crumbled to dust, hundred year old trees uprooted, radiating outward from his position. Not a peep of animal life to be heard. 

Bruce shook his head, pressing the heels of his palms to his temples, trying to remember what happened, when he saw a scrap of red and gold metal bent around a sharp corner of rock. All at once, everything rushed back. 

“Shit…” he breathed, then _“Shit!”_ He scrambled unsteadily to his feet. The memories were like a tornado in his head, but they were all slotting into place, faster and faster. He remembered Tony cajoling him into staying at the tower, their first kiss, when they realized they were in love…. God, he remembered _everything!_ Then Bruce cried out in almost physical pain when he remembered the desperate look on Tony’s face just before his faceplate slammed closed. 

“TONY!” he shouted, looking around frantically. He remembered his own complete idiocy, putting them all at risk. He remembered Tony frantically trying to fix him, risking his own health and sanity, and finally his life, just to make Bruce whole again. 

_“TONY!”_ Bruce shouted again, stumbling through the rubble, trying to reach a clearing. He leaned heavily against an uprooted tree and looked around, adrenaline thumping through his body and making him shake, when he heard a shout.

“Bruce!” Thor called, shoving his way through the brush by way of knocking downed trees out of his way with his hammer. 

“Oh god, Thor! What’s going on? Where’s Tony? Is he okay?” Bruce asked frantically, stumbling over to Thor, who got an arm around him to support him.

“Bruce! My friend, tell me you remember?” Thor asked with a tone that almost didn’t dare to hope, as he put a hand on Bruce’s face and looked him in the eye, as if he might see recognition there. Bruce nodded, the motion making him dizzy again, and he clutched at Thor’s shirt. 

“You have to take me to Tony,” he coughed, his movements stirring up rock dust from his skin. “Take me to him, for the love of god…”

Thor didn’t hesitate a moment more, spinning his hammer and flying into the woods with Bruce held close to his chest.

____________________________

_Bruce…_

Tony wasn’t sure he said that out loud.

The pain in his head got worse, blood rushing in one ear, head-splitting ringing filling the other, odd pins and needles all over his body. 

“Bruce…?” Tony coughed wetly, unable to open his eyes.

_Stabilize his neck- no, there. Backboard- okay… Someone grab what’s left of the armor…_

_Quinjet’s ready, let’s go…_

_Clint, Steve, you got- shit, he’s moving, get his arm down…_

“Bruce!”

“Tony, stay still, buddy-“

“Where’s Bruce?” Tony whispered.

Silence.

___________________________

“Tony?” Bruce breathed, and he felt like his insides were being ripped apart. “Jesus! Let me see him!” Bruce shouted, and he collapsed to his knees beside Tony, who was strapped to a backboard in the middle of a pile of exploded tree, unmoving and covered in bleeding gashes. The armor was shredded like tinfoil, pieces of it everywhere, and Tony looked frighteningly frail and human without it, surrounded by so much decimation. Bruce clutched whatever part of Tony’s hand he could reach, and could feel his friends’ hands touching his shoulder, steadying him, and could sense their exchange of meaningful glances.

“Oh god, Tony wake up, _please wake up,”_ Bruce begged thickly, but there was no response. 

“Bruce, we need to get him on the quinjet,” Natasha said softly, and Bruce shook her off, ignoring the baffled stares of the others at the apparent recovery of his memories and unscathed escape from the point-blank blast.

“This is all my fault, oh my god, this- everything is my fault!”

Bruce, my friend, you must calm yourself,” Thor said, offering an arm to help him stand. “We will take him to the hospital, and you must be treated yourself-“ Thor started, and Bruce backed away, panic clear in his eyes.

“No- I- I can’t be around him, I’ll just- I’ve already hurt him enough,” he mumbled, and Natasha looked at him warily. 

“Bruce, don’t talk like that. This was all an accident, if you remember anything, then you know this,” she said warningly, as Bruce backed away. “Tony’s going to want you by his side when he wakes up, he was asking for you just a minute ago.” 

“I can’t-“ Bruce whispered, panicked and irrational and still in a state of physical and mental shock, and he turned on his heel, transforming into Hulk as he did so. All any of them heard was an anguished, agonizingly pained roar in the distance, before silence fell. They all stared in the direction Bruce ran, stunned into inaction.

“Guys! Quinjet! We’ll deal with Bruce later,” Steve suddenly said, and they all jumped, returning to Tony’s side.

“Did I hear Bruce?” Tony mumbled with his eyes shut, and Natasha stroked his brow lightly.

“Just try to rest, Tony,” she whispered, as Steve and Thor lifted him into the quinjet.

______________________________

“What-“ _cough_ “-what do you mean, he _ran,”_ Tony slurred, wincing. He’d woken up in a hospital bed plenty of times before, but more often than not, Bruce was there by his side, holding his hand, still wearing rags and dust and a fresh pair of glasses. Tony didn’t like this at all. Steve just steepled his fingers, looking down at his lap.

“Tony, I mean he ran. His memories are obviously restored to some extent, and he just- _ran._ He said this was all his fault. He just seemed… in shock. He wasn’t thinking clearly,” Steve said tiredly. Tony made a distressed noise, having nothing to do with the intense amount of pain he was in.

“Jesus, it’s not his fault,” he wheezed, trying to get comfortable, and Steve immediately stood and pushed him back down into the pillows. 

“Would you _please?”_ Steve said in exasperation, and Tony scowled at him, but quit struggling. Steve fluffed Tony’s pillow and adjusted the bed and fussed over him for a few minutes before he finally sat down. “You’re in real bad shape, Tony. The best we can do right now is let you heal and try to track him until you’re better, got it?”

“The tissue regenerator-“ Tony started, and Steve cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Can only do so much. You broke damn near half the bones in your body, you still need surgery to reattach the reactor casing to your ribs, never mind the edema in your brain-“ Steve suddenly huffed in frustration. “We thought you were dead, Tony! We didn’t even know if you were going to wake up from the coma, if you had brain damage-“ Steve’s voice cracked, and he planted both hands on the railing to Tony’s bed, dropping his head. “Just. Please. You need to rest and heal. I promise we’ll all go after him as soon as you’re strong enough to operate a suit,” Steve murmured.

Tony laid there sullenly, but he knew Steve was right. He was lucky he survived, and the week he’d spent in a coma, followed by another week of drifting in and out of consciousness, certainly hadn’t made his friends any less cautious about letting him gallivant all over the world on a wild Bruce chase. Even now he struggled not to slur his words, and the doctors weren’t sure if he would ever recover from the retrograde amnesia he suffered surrounding the events just before and after the RT explosion.

“Then one of you should go to him. If he remembers, then somebody should help him, he’s all alone-“ Tony started, and Steve shook his head.

“Tony, he trashed the phone you gave him. Nat traced it to the middle of the Atlantic. He doesn’t want to be found. Not by us,” he said meaningfully, and Tony gave him an intense look. 

“I’m going after him,” Tony said in a hard, determined voice, despite his pain and weariness. “I’m not losing him again.”

Steve gave him a tired, crooked smile.

“I’d expect nothing less.” Steve pulled his chair closer, and reached for a tray on a nearby table. “Since you’re awake, why don’t you try to eat something?” he suggested, opening a pudding cup and waggling a spoon at Tony with an encouraging smile. Tony scowled. 

“I can feed myself,” he muttered. Steve arched a brow, holding out the spoon. 

“Can you?” 

Tony stared at it. He couldn’t even lift his arm. 

“I’m not hungry.”

“Mm-hm, I bet. So I guess I’ll just eat this pudding all by myself then,” Steve said, licking the extra pudding off the foil lid while Tony followed his every movement with hungry eyes. Steve loaded the spoon with creamy, chocolaty pudding and raised the spoon as though he was going to eat it, and Tony licked his lips. Then at the last moment, he offered the spoon to Tony, who obediently opened his mouth and let Steve feed it to him before he could think too hard about it. The rich sweetness flooded his senses and he realized just how long it had been since he’d eaten real food.

“Jesus,” Tony breathed, and Steve laughed softly.

“That good, huh?” he asked, stealing a bite of Tony’s pudding, which seemed rather ordinary to his non-deprived tongue. He offered another bite to Tony, who had less than zero fucks to give about sharing a spoon. 

“I can’t believe I’m letting you feed me,” Tony said around this mouthful, his tone decidedly less acerbic than before. Steve shrugged.

“A captain does what’s necessary to take care of his men,” Steve said with gruff sobriety, eliciting a quiet laugh from Tony, who immediately winced.

“Ow! Fuck, Cap, don’t make me laugh, please,” Tony panted, giving Steve a rueful smile, and Steve helped him adjust, before offering more pudding. 

“Sorry,” he said, and was quiet a few long moments, as he scraped the last of the pudding out of the container thoughtfully. “Just good to hear you laugh again, Tone,” he added softly. “It’s been a long time, you know.” Tony dropped his eyes, his mind going back to Bruce.

“Yeah. I know,” he mumbled. Steve rubbed Tony’s shoulder, giving him a hopeful look. 

“We’re all going to fix this. Together,” he said softly, and Tony looked back up at Steve’s earnest blue eyes gratefully, itching to get out of this hospital bed and get to work bringing Bruce home.

“Yeah. I know,” he said, this time with a ghost of hope.

_____________________________

“All right, one last little bump,” Clint said cheerfully, pushing Tony’s wheelchair across the threshold of the elevator, tipping it back on the two big wheels and making Tony flail slightly and squawk.

“Dammit Clint, I have a weak heart,” Tony protested as Clint thumped the wheelchair back on all four wheels, and he twisted in his seat to glare up at him. “This is all entirely unnecessary,” Tony said. Clint merely whistled an idle tune and looked unperturbed. 

“Doc’s orders,” he said simply, pushing Tony into the penthouse. Thor carried a bag with Tony’s medical supplies and went ahead, needlessly pushing furniture out of the way so Clint could guide the wheelchair into the room unencumbered, and looked overjoyed to have Tony back home again.

“Are you tired, my friend? I can bring up your tablets if you wish to continue your work, or your search for Bruce,” Thor offered, and Tony slouched grumpily, unable to be a jerk in the face of all this kindness.

“That’d be great Thor, thanks,” he said flatly, and Clint rolled the wheelchair to a halt, flicking on the brake. 

“All right, what’ll it be? Coffee? Sandwich? Takeout?” Clint offered, rubbing his hands together, coming around to face Tony with a broad smile. Tony sighed, but it all sounded nice.

“Coffee and a grilled cheese, please,” he said, and Clint clapped his hands together once, already bustling off to the kitchen. 

“One red-eye and a Jack Benny coming right up,” he said, and Thor laughed his booming laugh as he came around to push Tony the rest of the way to the bedroom. Tony even snorted, unable to help their infectious good moods at having him home.

“I shall help you lie down while Clint prepares your meal,” Thor said, parking the wheelchair beside Tony’s bed and bending as if to scoop Tony right up. Tony put up both hands immediately. 

“Whoa! What the hell are you doing?” he protested, and Thor paused, half-bent with his arm under Tony’s knees and a confused look on his face.

“…Helping you to the bed?” Thor said slowly, as if Tony was asking a trick question. Tony groaned, covering his eyes with one bandaged hand. 

“Thor. You do not need to lift me into bed like a damsel,” he sighed, and Thor shrugged.

“It seemed the most efficient means of moving you,” he said simply, unoffended. “Do you wish to attempt to move on your own?”

“Please. Just. Let me at least try,” Tony said, a pleading note in his voice, as he tried not to feel suffocated from all this help. He needed his friends, he told himself over and over. He needed his friends. He needed their help if he was going to get better and track down Bruce and bring him home. Just like he needed their help fixing the device and using it on Bruce. He didn’t have to do this alone. He never had to bear his burdens alone again. Tony repeated all this to himself grimly, determined to believe it all someday.

“Of course,” Thor said amicably, and offered his arm. Tony looped his arm through Thor’s and with a little help, a wince and a groan and more pain than he’d like to admit, he was able to shuffle slightly and fall into the bed in a somewhat seated position. It was entirely graceless, but he’d done it on his own. Well, possibly leaning very heavily on Thor and ignoring the strong arm around his waist, but he’d still done it. 

Thor helped Tony lift his legs onto the bed and put a pillow under the cumbersome brace that encased his right leg, and helped him get comfortable against the headboard. 

“Comfy?” Clint asked as he nudged the door open with his hip, carrying a mug of coffee and a plate with a grilled cheese on it in his hands. Tony rolled his eyes as Thor tucked the blanket around him, but he couldn’t help a small smile.

“The comfiest,” Tony confirmed, grunting in surprise when Clint just helped himself to the other half of the bed, sitting cross-legged in the spot that Bruce used to occupy, which Tony had left mostly untouched. “What’re you doing?” he demanded, as Clint set the plate on Tony’s lap and the mug on the end table.

“I’m sitting here with you and we’re going to all three of us watch dumb movies until you fall asleep, because if we don’t you’re gonna obsess over that tablet and mope about Bruce and we’re not gonna have that because there’s nothing you can do about it right now but rest,” Clint said firmly, pulling up a menu of movies on the TV and settling in against Bruce’s pillows. Tony stared, disgruntled, glancing at Thor when he pulled up an armchair and kicked his feet up on the mattress beside Tony’s legs. 

“And what if I’m in the mood to mope?” he asked, and Clint snorted.

“Too bad, brother. Now do you want dumb comedy, or dumb scifi?”

“I have every reason to mope.”

“Yep. And that’s why I’m not letting you do it.”

“Bruce is gone! What would you do in this situation? If it was Nat who just ran out on you? Sit around up your own ass watching movies in bed?” Tony spat, bristling, and Clint turned to face him, his face serious.

“I’d be a bigger asshole than you could imaging me capable of,” Clint said honestly, taking Tony by surprise. “But hopefully I’d recognize that my friends are trying to help me make the best of a breathtakingly shitty situation until I was well enough to do something about it, and not bite their heads off.” 

Tony stared, but eventually dropped his eyes, chagrined. Clint just squeezed his shoulder gently.

“Now do you want dumb comedy, or dumb scifi?” Clint asked again, his voice kinder than Tony felt he deserved.

“Scifi,” Tony said quietly, and Clint relaxed into the pillows once more.

“MST3K it is, then,” he announced, and threw a pillow at Thor. “Go get us some popcorn, big guy.”

Soon they were settled in to watch a terrible B scifi movie, and gradually, Tony’s mood lightened as Clint and Thor bantered back and forth, Clint roundly criticizing the acting, while Thor scornfully picked apart all the hand-wavey science. Soon Tony was joining in, much to his surprise, finishing out the movie with a good-natured argument with Thor about the folding of space-time and its effect on gravitational pull and radiation meridians between solar systems. Clint rolled his eyes, queuing up the next movie.

“Jesus. You’re a bigger nerd than Tony sometimes,” Clint muttered to Thor, who had the good grace to pretend offense. 

“How could I be at fault for knowing more than Tony about the nature of the stars?” Thor said innocently, a teasing gleam dancing in his eyes as Tony spluttered indignantly, his pain forgotten and an accusing finger waggling in Thor’s direction.

“Now listen here, Blondie, I’ll have you know that-“

“All right, all right,” Clint said loudly, motioning for them to chill out, while Thor laughed uproariously and Tony scowled behind his coffee mug. “Next movie is up, quit your bitching so I can hear,” he said, tapping his small purple hearing aid. 

Tony muttered a few things in Thor’s direction, but crossed his arms and settled into the movie. He was asleep before the movie was over, finally so overcome by his exhaustion, that he didn’t notice Clint tucking the blanket around him or Thor settling deeper into his armchair with a book, so that Tony wouldn’t be alone if he woke up.

____________________________

“I would ask where you learned to do this, but I feel like that would be a stupid question,” Tony murmured, keeping his lips very still as he spoke softly. Natasha carefully scraped the straight razor over his jaw and wiped it on the towel draped over Tony’s shoulder, and smiled at him.

“You would be right,” she said, tipping Tony’s chin the other way to get at his jaw from another angle. Tony sat docilely, his bandaged hands folded in his lap. He was unaccustomed to getting help with his grooming. At least, help that wasn’t Bruce wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist and kissing his nape while Tony tried to shave. 

“Just how many gentlemen have had the honor of having you press a razor to their throats?” Tony asked, and Natasha gave him an enigmatic grin and tipped his chin up. 

“Don’t move now, this is the hard part,” she murmured, and slowly scraped the razor over Tony’s Adam’s apple. He resisted swallowing until she flicked the razor off his chin just short of his goatee, and he glanced up at her with an arched brow. 

“Is this how it’s going to be every morning? You with your Mona Lisa bullshit and me with my life flashing before my eyes?” he quipped, kicking lightly at Natasha’s foot as she turned to rinse the razor. 

“Oh please. Don’t be so delicate. Besides, you’ll feel better looking sharp again. The Yeti look doesn’t become you,” Natasha said, wiping the razor and turning back to Tony, squatting in front of him. She gently took one of his hands and carefully unwound the bandage just enough to expose his fingertips, then held up a mirror for him. “Does it pass muster?” she teased.

Tony looked at himself, impressed to see his familiar reflection staring back at him, cleaned and shaven and looking almost normal again. He felt immense relief, and touched his jaw with his newly-exposed fingertips, feeling the smoothness there, in contrast to the manicured precision of his goatee. He huffed a little breath through his nose, dropping his hand.

“Very impressive, Ms. Rushman,” he said with a smirk, only to earn a swat on the arm from Natasha. She wrapped his hand back up and secured the bandage well. 

“Do you need help brushing your teeth?” She asked lightly, putting away the razor. Tony thought for a moment, flexing his fingers in their bandages, and shook his head.

“Nah, I got that,” he said, and then caught Natasha’s look. “Don’t give me that look! I can hold a toothbrush,” he said indignantly, and Natasha just arched a brow, holding his toothbrush out for him to take. Tony took it and held it securely, giving her an ‘I told you so’ look. She nodded, satisfied.

“Just making sure,” she said. “We can’t have your pretty smile turn into butter.” Tony just batted his eyelashes at her.

“You really think I have a pretty smile?” he asked sweetly, and Natasha made a disgusted sound, even though she had to hide a laugh.

“The prettiest,” she assured him, helping him up so he could brush his teeth. Tony let her help him, suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude for her help. 

“Thanks, Nat,” he said softly, steadying himself at the sink, and he knew Nat understood they weren’t talking about his smile anymore. She kissed him on the cheek and helped him put toothpaste on his brush. 

“You’re welcome, Tony. I’m happy you’re letting us help you,” she murmured, her small hand on his back, keeping him balanced. Tony ducked his head, his eyes on his toothbrush.

“Yeah, well…” he said, but that was all he needed to say. Natasha would understand how grateful he was, how much he was starting to realize how much he needed his friends.

______________________________

“Dammit, Rhodey, I don’t need your help!” Tony spat, frustrated, and the scoffing noise that Rhodey made only served to infuriate him more.

“Fine, I’ll just let go, and we’ll see how well you can stand on your own,” Rhodey said coolly, equally frustrated, and Tony clung to his arms a little tighter, reminders of all the times Bruce told him how much he needed his friends flashing through his head. Rhodey arched a brow at Tony.

“I didn’t pull every favor I had to get leave from the crotch of the Middle East so you can tell me you don’t need me. Guess I’ll be seeing you around, man.”

“Wait!” Tony said, and steeled himself, putting one foot in front of the other slowly, excruciatingly, finishing the lap around the kitchen island with Rhodey’s help, gripping both his forearms tightly, until he finally collapsed into a chair. Tony rubbed his leg gingerly, his eyes glazed over at he stared at the floor. “Just wish it was Bruce, is all,” he said quietly, then glanced up at Rhodey. “No offense, Care Bear. You’re pleasant to look at and cling to and all that, but-“

Rhodey rolled his eyes and waved a dismissive hand, sitting beside Tony. 

“Yeah, I get it. No need to elaborate,” he said, watching Tony stretch stiffly. “Feeling any better today?” he asked. Tony just shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Think you’re up to giving it a try with the cane?”

Tony eyed the cane contemptuously where it leaned in the corner innocently. The physical therapist had assured him it was only temporary, but to him, it symbolized a level of weakness that grated on him. He said nothing, rubbing his leg sullenly.

“The sooner you can walk steadily with the cane, the sooner you get Bruce,” Rhodey said softly, and Tony sighed, because he was useless when his best friend used that cajoling tone with him. Besides, finding Bruce was the only thought that kept him going when he woke up in a cold sweat night after night, his mind fraught with nightmares and his body cramped in horrible pain as it healed. 

When mornings seemed insurmountable and days and eventually weeks passed before he could even move from his bed, all he could do was wonder where Bruce was and stay glued to a tablet, watching for signs of him anywhere. Tony reached for Rhodey’s forearm when it was offered.

“All right, let’s quit sitting around then,” he said with grim resignation. Rhodey went and got the cane, and Tony took it, slowly getting to his feet and shuffling around until the thing felt comfortable in his hand. Rhodey slid in easily beside him, wrapping his arm around Tony’s waist for support as they began another lap around the kitchen island.

“You know, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come back sooner than this, I know you’ve been having a really hard time-“ Rhodey started, and Tony cut him off with a gesture.

“You don’t have to apologize. Someone had to be out there kicking ass while I was- was…” Tony stumbled over both his words and his feet, and Rhodey’s grip tightened until he balanced out.

“Hey, I’m serious, man. I know we’ve talked on the phone, but…” Rhodey’s voice dropped, his eyes on Tony’s feet as the slowly walked. “I know you’ve really been struggling with all this, I would, too.”

“Stop it,” Tony said, his knuckles white on his cane. 

“No, I’m not gonna stop it,” Rhodey huffed, and Tony glanced up at him briefly, looking away quickly. Rhodey sighed, helping Tony round the corner. “Steve says you’ve changed.”

“Have I?” Tony asked with a tinge of bitterness. Rhodey shrugged.

“I think so,” he said. “I’ve never known you to let anyone see you licking your wounds, and yet.” He made a broad gesture that indicated Tony’s cane and his struggles walking.

“And yet,” Tony echoed, falling a little into Rhodey’s side when he stumbled again. Rhodey steadied him once more.

“Yeah. Here you are, actually letting your friends help you, and you haven’t even been dying of palladium poisoning for months before letting them in. I’m never gonna forgive you for that, you know,” he said, giving Tony an affectionate, exasperated smirk. Tony just huffed, returning the smirk.

“Water under the bridge. Why are you always bringing up old shit?” he said, and Rhodey threw his hand up, rolling his eyes.

“Here we go again-“

“Gotta make a man look bad.”

“You were dying, for fuck's sake!”

“Cant let a guy have any peace-“

“Jesus Christ, Tone, I don’t know why I put up with your shit. C’mere,” Rhodey said, and stopped, pulling Tony into a hug. “You’re the dumbest smart person I know.”

“Aw, don’t I feel like the belle of the ball,” Tony said, his voice muffled against Rhodey’s shoulder as he hugged back just as hard. “I’m really glad you’re here, Rhodey,” he added in a whisper. 

“Me, too,” Rhodey whispered back, and Tony was unpleasantly reminded of when Rhodey first found him in the desert of Afghanistan. “I wish you would have told me how bad it was, I would’ve come back a lot sooner, you know.”

Tony sighed.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Let me guess, ‘Stark men are made of iron,’ or some bullshit you picked up at your dad’s knee?” Rhodey said with a sardonic edge to his voice. Tony snorted, pulling away and steadying himself on his cane.

“Sure, we’ll go with that,” he said grimly. “Sounds less crazy that whatever I would have come up with.” 

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Rhodey said, rolling his eyes, and Tony actually laughed at that, as they started another lap around the island.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” Tony said, diligently putting one foot in front of the other, letting his friend support him. “I’ll take back my armor, no more gallivanting around with the Avengers while Iron Man is on the mend,” he warned with a smirk, causing Rhodey to bark a laugh.

“Right. I’ll remember that, as long as you remember what happened the last time you tried to take back _my_ armor,” he said, emphasis on the word ‘my.’

“Hey, I _let_ you keep it, that’s the only reason you ran off with it in the first place,” Tony said, and muttered something under his breath about WARMACHINEROX being the stupidest password in the world, which made Rhodey mutter something about replacing him on the team permanently. They continued to comfortably mutter barbs back and forth as Rhodey gently guided Tony on his laps around the kitchen island, while Tony held securely onto his best friend for support.

He needed his friends. It was really only until now, after everything that had happened, that he was actually starting to feel comfortable with the idea. He maybe even started to like it. He never really was alone. Even without Bruce here, every one of his friends was by Tony’s side, ready to help him bring Bruce home.


	20. Chapter 20

“God, he’s not exactly subtle, is he?” Tony said, frowning over the multiple screens surrounding him, streams of data flowing like water over them. He grabbed his cane (currently a flashy red and gold) and limped over to his worktable, keying in commands while Natasha paused her work and watched. 

“Look at this. ‘Tony Stark current condition.’ ‘News on Iron Man.’ ‘Avengers current events.’ Searches like this every day since a week after the explosion. It’s gotta be him. The searches have been encrypted to look like the origin locations are spread all over, but it’s crude at best. Downright offensive, if a _certain someone_ thinks they can hide something like this from me,” he said with a growing scowl. He pulled up a stool and sat, stretching out his leg and pulling the holographic screen closer.

“I ran an algorithm through the SI satellites, and it looks like the searches are all originating from an internet café in the fucking armpit of Mexico City.” Tony twisted around on his stool, looking at Natasha with open disgust. “Are internet cafés even a thing that really exist anymore? I’m having flashbacks to 1998, for fuck’s sake.” 

But despite his usual sarcasm, the search parameters left him feeling unsettled and vaguely defensive. If Bruce was so worried, why didn’t he try to contact one of them? Why didn’t he come home? Natasha leaned over his shoulder, looking at the long list of search queries. 

“Obviously he’s worried about you, Tony,” she said, making notations on a holographic map. “I’ve got a contact in that area, I can see if she can find any intel on Bruce,” she offered. Tony nodded.

“Do it. He hasn’t had a code green since he ran, so there’s nothing in the news,” Tony said, ignoring the first part of her statement. He was trying his hardest not to hope too much, just in case he tracked Bruce down and made a big flowery scene, only to have Bruce shake his head in that infuriatingly self-deprecating way he had, and disappear from Tony’s life once more. He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I mean it, Tony. I think he _wants_ to be found. He might not act it, but he’s got to be desperate to know you’re okay.”

Tony bunched his shoulders around his ears unconsciously, turning away from Natasha and busying himself with flipping through files on the screen unseeingly.

“And if he finds out I’m ok, then runs off again?” he asked distantly, in a rare moment of quiet vulnerability. Natasha was silent for a long moment. 

“I don’t think he’ll do that. He loves you, Tony. Being away from you has to be shredding him inside,” she murmured, taking a seat beside Tony. Tony crossed his arms tightly over his chest, conflicting emotions running rampant inside him, ranging from worry to fear to outright anger. It didn’t take long before biting sarcasm bubbled up inside him.

“Right, he has such a good track record with these sort of things,” Tony muttered. Natasha pulled at Tony’s shoulder so he would turn to face her, and Tony glanced up, chewing the inside of his cheek. 

“You have every right to be angry,” she murmured. All at once, everything seemed to boil up inside Tony with violent force. 

“You’re goddamned right I’m angry!” he bit out, shoving her hand off his shoulder. “So his memories came back, and he just- just _left,_ he remembered me and everything we had and everything I did, and he just _left_ me without even waiting to see if I was _alive-“_ Tony was trying not to hyperventilate, but hot, bitter tears blurred his vision. Natasha reached for his hands, holding them both tightly, even as Tony tried to pull away.

“C’mon, get it out,” she said quietly, and he tried to yank his hands back angrily, unable to break Natasha’s grip.

“Fucking- he _remembered,_ he was going to say he loved me right before the explosion in the lab, and he knew I was hurt, and he left me in my goddamned hour of need, and- and- won’t even call, and-“ Tony’s voice tightened and cracked, and a strained noise escaped his throat. “He said he’d never run out on me like this, he fucking _promised_ me-“

Tony’s shoulders shook, and it all came out in an ugly, angry, bitter mess. He’d felt a gamut of emotion since the explosion, but his anger at Bruce had been tightly repressed the whole time. He felt betrayed and sick and he wanted Bruce back _so badly_ angry at him and so _guilty_ for being angry, and it was all fractured, whirling chaos inside him. 

He wanted Bruce to come home more than anything in the world. And then he wanted to never speak to him again. 

“Come here,” Natasha murmured, pulling Tony close, and he wrapped his arms around her and cried openly, shamefully, the way he hardly ever allowed himself when he was alone; certainly never with anyone else present. He just hurt so much, but it was a different, more virulent hurt than before, when he wallowed in self-pity because of Bruce’s memory loss. This time it cut him sharp and deep, and it felt profoundly personal. Natasha let him cry on her shoulder, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“Tony, he’s got to be just as confused about all this as you are. You know he’s got decades of running ingrained into him, it’s what he automatically falls back on when he doesn’t know what to do,” Natasha said gently. 

“What if- what if he got his memories back and he- he doesn’t want-“ Tony mumbled through his tearful gasps, but he couldn’t finish, his insecurity overwhelming him. Natasha’s red hair brushed his face as she shook her head.

“Of course he still wants you. He’s ashamed, Tone. If you know anything about him, you know he’s going to blame himself for you getting hurt. He probably thinks you won’t want him back.” Tony huffed indignantly, sniffling and rubbing at his eyes.

“You’re just making assumptions to shut me up. You know that’s bullshit,” he mumbled. Natasha ignored the first part of Tony’s accusation.

“Well he doesn’t know that. You know how he gets. Even after all the years you two have been together, he would still tell me that sometimes he couldn’t believe all this was real, that you really wanted him after everything he’d done.”

Tony reeled back, his brows knitted in frustration.

“He never did anything wrong, just look at all the lives he’s saved! I don’t know how many times I told him that he’s not the bad guy, and he’s still going on about that shit? Of course I really wanted him! My god, we fell in love like it was a goddamned fairytale, and he acts like- like-” Tony said, his voice rising. Natasha made a soothing, shushing noise.

“Tony, I _know_ that. And I think he knew that too, deep down inside. Hey. Look at me,” she murmured, lifting Tony’s chin to look at him properly. “I’m going to have my contact put out some feelers, okay? We’ll get him tracked down. I’m sure he’s scared and confused and worried about you, but we’ll bring him home. Together, just like Steve said, okay?”

Tony sniffed, pulling his chin away and wiping his eyes and nose on his sleeve.

“Okay,” he mumbled. He wasn’t quite satisfied, but in the end, all he really wanted was Bruce back home in his arms. He wanted to kiss away every doubt that Bruce ever had, to tell him how loved he was, and not just by Tony, but by all their friends. 

“Okay,” Natasha echoed, and turned to her phone to type a message to her contact. Tony sat and let himself dry up, feeling embarrassed, but oddly relieved. Once upon a time, he would have swallowed his anger and hurt along with seven willful gulps of scotch and self-hatred, until his insides were sharp and raw and he wanted to curl in on himself and never wake up. Once upon a time he _did_ do that, shutting everyone out until he exploded in a fit of self-destruction that ended with his hands shredded by a broken mirror and a humiliating stay in the hospital. 

He still felt lingering anger towards himself, for still having tearful, embarrassing outbursts after all this time, but it was different now. Back then, he certainly wouldn’t have done this in front of one of his friends. Back then, he always felt worse afterward. But this time, he almost felt… _better._ He laid a hand on Natasha’s wrist, and she looked up at him with a questioning look in her eyes.

“Um. Sorry about that. But… thanks. I needed to, uh. I guess vent a little,” Tony said a bit awkwardly, his usual façade of biting wit escaping him for the moment. Natasha laid a hand over his.

“Don’t worry about it, Tone. We all have our moments,” she said with a soft smile. Tony smirked.

“Not you,” he said. Natasha snorted and returned his smirk.

“You’d be surprised. I’d tell you to ask Clint sometime, but then I’d have to kill you both,” she said cryptically, returning to her phone with a bemused expression. That got a small laugh out of Tony, and he rubbed his hand over his chest, still sore from his surgery. They settled in comfortably to work together, moving over to make room for Steve when he joined them sometime later.

“Doing all right, Tone?” Steve asked softly when he sat down, rubbing Tony between the shoulder blades comfortingly. Tony glanced at him, not hiding the fact that his eyes were still red-rimmed.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Tony said, smiling hesitantly and handing Steve a tablet, so they could all work together to bring Bruce home.

_______________________________

“I think he got tipped off,” Tony grumbled, using Steve’s strong arms for help getting off the couch so he could hobble to the coffeepot, still a little unsteady without the cane.

“Well, we’re still not even sure it was him. Nat’s contact never did get eyes on him, neither did she when her and Clint went down there to poke around a bit,” Steve said, getting a mug of coffee for himself after helping Tony to the counter. Tony sipped the scalding brew, frowning into the distance. 

“It’s been a month since we’ve seen a hit coming from that area. Radio silence as far as the eye can see,” Tony said. “What was the last thing searched in that café?” Steve went and got a tablet and scrolled through it.

“It was just after our press release. The one where we said that War Machine was replacing Iron Man on the team indefinitely.” Steve mirrored Tony’s frown, sipping his coffee thoughtfully. “We never did release a statement about your condition.” Tony paused, something clicking.

“You don’t think he thinks…?”

Steve paused with his mug raised halfway to his lips.

“Indefinitely…”

“That makes it sound like-“

Steve looked up at Tony sharply.

“Do you think we should release another statement?”

Tony set down his mug, tapping absently at his arc reactor.

“I mean, is this really how we’re going to do things? Sending covert messages through press releases, and hoping he bites?”

“Well…” Steve shrugged. Tony frowned deeper.

“And we’ve been keeping track of Ross? Making sure he’s not sniffing around?” Tony asked.

“He’s in the dark,” Steve assured him, and Tony let out the breath he’d been holding.

“No, I think it’s time,” Tony said resolutely. Steve arched a brow.

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, eyeing Tony’s still-healing leg. Tony nodded.

“Hundred and ten percent,” he said. “Tell the team to assemble. We’re flying down tomorrow. I don’t care how long it takes to find him. We’re bringing Bruce home.”

__________________________________

In the flurry of packing and making arrangements and getting flight clearance, Tony hobbled about gathering tablets and rushing in an adrenaline-fraught burst to get everything in order. Now that they had a plan and a direction and were finally going after Bruce, Tony felt more at peace and more nervous than he’d felt since waking up in the hospital. He hated that they had to wait so long before taking action, but his friends had been right; he hadn’t been strong enough to handle the trip, and he wanted to be the one to bring Bruce home. Finally it was the right time.

When Tony eventually lay down to sleep that night, he stared at the ceiling, unable to shut his eyes or his mind, going over everything ad nauseum. He thought about Bruce locking himself in the containment lab with the RT, the way he’d stared so hollowly at Tony through the cracked glass, so desperate to get his memories back that he was willing to risk his own life to do so. 

He thought about the aching loneliness he felt when he woke up in the hospital to find that Bruce wasn’t by his side. He still felt anger, but it was diluted by worry. He thought about long ago, right after the accident, when he and Bruce sat in the living room, Bruce curled away from him, while Tony showed him a photo album of their happy lives together and slowly fell apart inside.

Tony sat up, flicking on his lamp, and picked up the framed photo on his bedside table, the selfie they’d taken that cold winter evening in Paris, the Eiffel Tower glittering behind them, as bright as their smiles. Tony brushed his thumb over Bruce’s face, smiling a little as he looked at Bruce’s greying, unruly curls sticking out from under his hat. He remembered how Bruce’s cheek was peppered with stubble, pressed against his, and how their breath hung in the wintery air. He remembered how in love he was when Bruce pressed him against that tree and whispered _joyeux Noël_ in Tony’s ear, his lips tender and warm against Tony’s skin. 

Tony flipped the blanket back and limped over to his packed bag, wrapped the photo in a shirt, and zipped the bag carefully closed around it. He imagined finding Bruce holed up in some shack somewhere in the smothering crowds of Mexico City and showing him the photo, helping him remember why he should come home, that Tony needed him, that they needed each other. He imagined Bruce folding himself into Tony’s open arms, and the two of them looking forward, not behind.

Tony was still awake when Steve tapped lightly on his door and poked his head in.

“Hey Tone,” he murmured. “I made some breakfast. Wheels up in 45.” 

“Okay, thanks,” Tony mumbled, his gut twisted with nerves. His nostalgia his gradually faded to worry. What if Bruce didn’t want to come home? What if they couldn’t find him? Tony didn’t want to imagine coming home to his empty penthouse, resigned to being alone again. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle the rejection if they found Bruce and learned he didn’t want Tony anymore. 

When Steve closed his door again, Tony groaned his way out of bed and into the shower, cleaning and dressing quickly and joining the others in the kitchen. The atmosphere was tense and electric. They all knew that a lot rode on this trip.

“War Machine, Captain Marvel, and Spider-Man are going to cover the city while we’re gone,” Steve said when Tony arrived, looking at a checklist of things on his tablet. “We’re going to be staying near the café where we’ve tracked the searches, and we have a list of possible trails that we’re going to explore. Tony, since you’re still having trouble getting around, you’re going to be camping out at the café, keeping an eye out for Bruce on the off chance he’s still in the area. Nat and Clint, you’re going to meet with Nat’s contact and follow up on her research. Thor and I are going to follow some threads outside the city, see if any of them pan out. Understood?” 

They all nodded, drinking their coffee and eating the scrambled eggs and toast that Steve had made for them. Tony was a little too wound up to eat, and mostly just picked at his food. Clint squeezed his shoulder.

“Hey, this time next week, we’ll all be one, big, happy family again,” Clint said, and Tony huffed. But Steve set down his tablet with a sigh.

“It’s important we be realistic about this, guys. Bruce is an expert at staying off the grid, and if he doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be a lot of effort on our part to find him. Let’s not set ourselves up with arbitrary timelines, just so we can get disappointed if we don’t meet them,” he said, pragmatic as always. Clint saluted.

“Aye, mon Capitan,” Clint said sarcastically, but let it drop. Tony was grateful for them both. Clint for keeping his hopes up, Steve for keeping them rooted firmly on the ground. Tony choked down some toast and pushed his stool away from the counter, only to have Rhodey by his side in an instant. 

“Hey man, good luck out there. Keep me posted,” he said, pulling Tony into a hug. Tony hugged his best friend back, smiling against his shoulder.

“I will. Don’t steal any more of my armors while I’m gone, asshole,” Tony said, making Rhodey snort derisively.

“I’ll limit myself to as many as I can carry in one trip,” he teased, thumping Tony on the back as the others started cleaning up and getting ready to leave.

“Don’t you sass me, I’ll put you off the team,” Tony said, not meaning a word of it. Rhodey grinned at him and picked up his bag to carry it for Tony to the quinjet. 

“Yeah yeah, it’ll be my supervillain origin story,” Rhodey said, rolling his eyes. He helped load their supplies, then gave out a round of hugs. “Bring him home, guys,” Rhodey said, waving them off as the quinjet hatch sealed. 

“It won’t be home unless he’s by my side,” Tony said mostly to himself, as the jet took off and made his stomach swoop.


	21. Chapter 21

Tony showed a photo of Bruce to yet another person in the café, slowly losing hope as days _(weeks)_ passed with nothing to show for it. 

“Have you seen this man?” he asked in smooth Spanish. “He’s a friend of mine, and has been missing.” He handed the photo to a woman who came in and went straight behind the counter, an employee he hadn’t met yet. She took it with a glance and started to shake her head and hand it back, when she paused, looking at it more clearly with a frown.

“Roberto? Is that his name?” she asked in Spanish, and Tony’s who body seemed to jolt awake. 

“Yes! Yes, Robert is his first name. He was in this area a couple months ago, but I haven’t seen him in a long time. Do you know where he might be?” he asked quickly, but his face fell as the woman shook her head.

“I used to see him in the neighborhood every day. Seemed a sad sort of man. Always searching online, always frowning. He worked at the market down the street, then was gone one day.” She handed the photo back with a sad smile.

“I hope you find your friend,” she said, and Tony looked down at the photo and sighed.

“Me too,” he murmured, “Thank you.” He returned to his seat near the entrance and pinched the bridge of his nose, before calling Steve to let him know he was heading to this market to follow a lead.

“Yeah, I don’t know. A woman recognized him from the café and from a market nearby. I’m going to check it out.”

“Do you need one of us to come with? It might be too far to walk,” Steve said worriedly, his voice crackly over the phone. He must be somewhere open, where there was wind, Tony thought. Definitely not in the cramped, sweaty, concrete abyss of one of the most densely-populated parts of the city, like he was.

“I’m fine, I’ll let you know if I find anything out,” Tony said, hanging up. It was some time and several rests before he made his way to the market, but eventually he found a man who recognized Bruce, and Tony started letting himself feel some hope. 

“He used to haul boxes at night, always kept to himself,” the man said, “Then one day he just didn’t show up. Never saw him again. Sorry, that’s all I know.” He bustled back to his work, and Tony called Steve again with a report, both excited and dejected.

Two days later they were holed up in their rented room and bickering uselessly, resting out of the oppressive glare of the sun and grumbling about the heat. 

“This is getting ridiculous,” Clint muttered, flapping the hem of his t-shirt to try to get some breeze on his skin. “There’s a metric fuckton of people here, we’re never going to find him in this mess. Why couldn’t he have gone code green in a jungle or something where we could just scan for life signs?” Tony glared at him, ignoring the bead of sweat that rolled down his temple.

“Right, I’ll remember that next time you go missing. ‘Checklist, item one: bitch incessantly about your missing friend. Item two: give up.’ That sound about right?” Tony snapped. Steve swatted Tony’s shoulder.

“Knock it off, you two, we’re all frustrated,” he said with a sigh that indicated that he was at the end of his line of patience. Clint muttered something and Tony sat up straighter, narrowing his eyes uncharacteristically.

“You wanna try saying that loud enough for the whole class can hear?” he asked, challenging, and just as Clint was about to open his mouth, Thor placed a hand over it. 

“I would advise you to swallow whatever words be upon your lips, brother,” Thor said mildly, and Clint glared, but settled, as did Tony. He hated fighting with his friends, but they were all just about fried. Steve was murmuring thanks to Thor, when Natasha got a text. She read it, then straightened up. 

“Guys, guys, shut up, I think this might be the lead we’re looking for,” she said, her eyes flicking side to side as she read. Everyone went silent, and Tony held his breath. “South. Far outskirts. Spotted at a park of all places, like a needle in a fucking haystack. I’ve got an address.”

There was an immediate commotion as everyone stood and started talking at once, until Steve shouted them down.

“All right, _all right!_ Everyone calm down, okay? Tony, you’re heading this up. What do you want to do?” Everyone looked at Tony expectantly, who had sudden ferocity in his eyes.

“We’re going to get a room nearby. Then I’m going to his place alone. I don’t want to make a big commotion and spook him off,” he said decisively, despite how surreal this whole ordeal had been. Steve nodded his head and they immediately started packing in tenuous silence, while Tony tried not to play every worst-case scenario out in his head over and over.

_____________________

“There it is,” Tony murmured to Thor, looking at the completely ordinary, small apartment that nestled truly on the outskirts, dusty and remote from the densely populated, smog-laced inner city. Here there were stray cats sunning themselves on dirt streets and brightly-colored, flowered vines creeping into the alleys between small buildings with tin roofs. 

“Aye, it is certainly modest,” Thor said, accompanying Tony on the off chance that Bruce ran again, since he was not only the only one who could catch up with him, but possibly talk (or fight) some sense into him. 

“All right. Okay. This is fine. It’s going to be fine,” Tony said, bouncing on his toes nervously and fidgeting with his red and gold cane. He plucked at the hem of his t-shirt and patted his back pocket, where he kept the photo of the two of them in Paris. He kept his eyes on the door of the apartment, which was open to let the breeze in to cool the steamy air inside. 

“Tony. I will be right here. Your love for each other will overcome this. Do not forget how strong that can be,” Thor said quietly, pulling Tony into a hug as gentle as his words. Tony clung to him for a long moment, fingers twisted in the back of Thor’s slightly sweaty t-shirt. 

“Thanks, Thor. Thanks for everything,” he said, then moved forward, walking slowly and unevenly with his cane, his heart racing in his throat. All the possible scenarios of how this could play out flashed through his mind, each one ramping his anxiety higher and higher. What if Bruce rushed into his arms? What if he ran again? Told Tony he didn’t want anything to do with him? What if his memories hadn’t returned, like Tony had feared this whole time?

The long walk suddenly became very short, when Tony found himself at the open door, and his breath caught in his throat, heart skipping three beats. 

There was Bruce, the familiar curve of his back facing Tony, as he bent over a small table, preparing some food in his meagerly-furnished, but brightly-colored apartment. His curls were wild and long, tumbling around his shoulders, and he wore ridiculous running shorts and a tank top, barefoot against the cool wood floor. 

Tony stared the way a drowning man heaves his first, blessed breath of air. 

“Hey there, Greenbean,” Tony finally said softly.

Bruce whirled so fast he knocked the small table over, the clatter echoing too loudly in the room, and he looked at Tony with a combination of startled surprise and utter horror that made Tony’s stomach do something very unpleasant.

“Oh my god. Tony,” Bruce breathed, backing up so fast his back thumped into the wall, and he looked about ready to faint. Tony hobbled a step forward, and Bruce’s eyes darted to the cane, and he held out a hand frantically.

“Don’t- Tony, don’t come any closer,” he said desperately, and Tony’s jaw actually dropped. 

“Bruce, what- what are you talking about? I’m here! For you!” he said, spreading his hands and frowning. Bruce’s hands visibly shook as he twisted his fingers together nervously, looking around as though trapped.

“How did you find me? I was off the radar, you weren’t supposed to…” he babbled, and Tony took another step forward, only to be stopped by Bruce again.

“I found you because I’m Tony Fucking Stark,” Tony said, beginning to grow irritable. “Bruce, I came here because I want you to come home. Don’t you remember? Don’t you remember me? Our home?” His voice was becoming desperate, made only worse by Bruce squeezing his eyes shut and shuffling along the wall, so he was further from Tony.

“This can’t be. You weren’t supposed to find me…” he mumbled.

“Bruce!” Tony said firmly, and Bruce froze. “You have your memories again, don’t you?” 

There was a long, long pause where they searched each other’s eyes.

“I can’t come home with you, Tony,” Bruce whispered. “I almost killed you. I almost killed everyone in the tower. I love you too much to be near you.”

Tony felt himself completely crumble, everything inside him sick and hurting. It was worse than that desperate moment before the RT exploded in the tower, when Bruce almost confessed his love for Tony. Tony visibly wilted, trying not to look stricken.

“Bruce, honey…” Tony said softly. “I love you too much to be away from you.”

“Tony, stop this, you can’t- you’re making it too hard…”

“Good. You need to stop this bullshit and come home. We need you. _I_ need you. Look. Don’t you remember?” Tony dug in his pocket for the photo, which was a little bent and crumpled by now, and held it out for Bruce to see. Bruce’s eyes went wide and he eyed it like it was a cobra ready to strike. Tony shuffled forward a step and shook the photo once at Bruce. “People love you. You’re worthy of being loved, Bruce, when will you understand that? You didn’t even-“

“No.”

Tony stopped mid-sentence, agape at the finality of Bruce’s words.

“What?”

“No. I’m not coming with you. This is my home now. Or, at least it _was_ my home. I’m going to have to find a new one now that you found me,” Bruce said firmly. “I’m not going to risk ever hurting you again, Tony. I’m not coming with you.” 

Tony felt his face getting red and hot, anger bubbling up in him. 

“You didn’t hurt me, goddammit! It was a fucking accident! Look! I’m fine! The cane isn’t even permanent, the doc says I’ll be good as new in-“ he protested, only to be cut off by Bruce.

“Tony, I- _I don’t care._ You need to leave. I’m not coming with you. That’s my final decision. Go.”

The words cut through Tony cruelly, and he felt hot tears on his face, and didn’t care. Let Bruce see them, let him see how much Tony was hurting.

“Please, Bruce… honey, you’re breaking my heart,” Tony whispered shakily. “I’m not above begging. You’re my entire life. Everything I’ve done in the last year of this bullshit has been because I love you so much. You’re happy at home. I know you’ve been searching for intel on me, I know you want to come home,” Tony said, his voice thick and cracking as the tears began to flow freely. Bruce just squeezed his eyes shut and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, shaking his head as though trying to wake himself from a living nightmare.

“I searched for you because I was worried I killed you. That’s all. I appreciate everything you did for me, Tony, but I have to end this. It was a risk from the start. We were an explosion waiting to happen. Now you need to go, or I’m going to have to make you.”

“Make me-? Bruce? God, _please…”_

 _“I SAID GO!”_ Bruce roared as he lunged a step away from the wall, scooping up and violently throwing a ceramic bowl in Tony’s direction, where it shattered explosively on the wall behind him. Tony stumbled backwards, his hand over his mouth, feeling utterly sick. Bruce didn’t want him. He didn’t want to come home. And for the first time ever, since laying eyes on him in the helicarrier all those years ago, Tony actually felt a bolt of fear; Bruce had never used that voice toward him, never been anything but gentle with him. 

Bruce gestured sharply at the door, and Tony backed away, tripping over the shards of the bowl and barely righting himself in time. The photo fell from his hand, and he stepped on it unseeingly as he turned to go. He couldn’t get away fast enough, ignoring the pain in his leg and walking right past Thor, his face splotchy and breath hitching, but expression deadly grim.

“Tony?” Thor asked, rushing to his side.

“Tell the others to get their shit and get in the jet. He’s not coming home.”


	22. Chapter 22

The silence was thick and awkward and decidedly disheartened on the whole flight home, and Tony bounced his foot and seethed the entire time, alternately wanting to punch something, scream, or cry. He said nothing when they landed, stalking to his room and having Jarvis lock everyone out of the penthouse. 

He knew better than to repeat the last time he’d locked himself in his room and destroyed everything in it, so this time he paced fixatedly and took things apart and put them back together for days, before retreating to his workshop. His friends all tried to visit him, but he generally avoided everyone with the exception of a few visits from Rhodey.

“Maybe he’ll come around, man,” Rhodey said, helping Tony sort a sizeable pile of small screws and nuts and bolts as something to do to keep Tony busy. 

“He won’t,” Tony said sullenly, but sighed with resignation. “He has more determination than I do on my most stubborn days.”

“Just give it time,” Rhodey said comfortingly, as he nudged Tony’s shoulder with his own. Tony just made a quiet, noncommittal noise, and they spent the next several hours sorting parts in silence. 

Three more weeks of the same passed, but while Tony had cleaned and organized his workshop and penthouse obsessively in that time, he wouldn’t touch Bruce’s lab, not even to see the progress in repairs. He got regular updates from Jarvis as crews returned it to its original state, but he couldn’t bear to see it. Part of him wanted to raze it and turn it into something ridiculous like a baseball diamond or indoor jungle, but part of him wanted it restored to perfection on the slim chance that Bruce would return. 

And the whole time, it was as though he relentlessly relived all the same hurt that he’d experienced over the last year. He lost Bruce again, one last time. Maybe it was easier to mourn this time, maybe he was just still in shock from hearing those cruel words on Bruce’s lips, but he spent that month in a state of complete numbness, drifting through the tower like a ghost, while his friends shared concerned whispers behind his back.

“Tony?” Steve said softly, startling Tony from his blank staring out of the kitchen window, a cold cup of coffee in his white-knuckled grip. 

“Hm?” Tony hummed flatly. He didn’t move when Steve rubbed his shoulder.

“Why don’t you come on down to the common area and hang out with us?” he suggested, and the smile in his voice was lost on Tony. “We don’t have to do anything crazy. Maybe just some TV?”

Tony sighed.

“’S’okay,” he mumbled emotionlessly, and he swore he could feel Steve’s frown settle right between his shoulder blades.

“We’re worried about you, Tone,” Steve said bluntly, and Tony turned toward him, unable to muster up exasperation of any kind. 

“I’m fine. I’m being good. No alcohol, no outbursts. I’m… I’m being good,” he said, trailing off into a whisper and dropping his gaze, too weak to challenge the raw worry in Steve’s eyes. He took a breath. “Maybe another time? Next week. Ask me again next week,” he said tiredly, going back to staring out the window. 

Steve seemed to hesitate, but ended up staying by his side for awhile and carrying on a pleasant one-sided conversation about some move that Natasha and Clint came up with in training, which Tony distantly thought was a nice gesture. But eventually Steve left him to his solitude, and Tony sighed again, dumped his coffee, and headed down to his workshop to find something to occupy his mind.

An undetermined number of days later, Tony was listlessly scrubbing the articulated joints in the fingers of a long-retired gauntlet with a toothbrush, when Jarvis got his attention.

“Sir, your presence is requested in the penthouse,” he said mildly, and Tony frowned up at the ceiling in surprise. 

“I swear I’m going on lockdown again,” he mumbled, taking his sweet time to finish, clean up, and put away his things. He grabbed his cane (infrequently needed these days), and headed to the elevator, his mind elsewhere, assuming Steve wanted to go over his weekly med report again. 

“Steve, I told you we only need to go over this shit once a week-“ Tony muttered in exasperation before the elevator door was even all the way open, then stopped like he’d walked into a brick wall when he saw Bruce standing in the middle of the living room, curls still wild, duffel bag by his feet, and a look of desperate regret on his face. He held a crumpled photo in both hands, his calloused thumbs running nervously over the edges.

Tony stared for a full ten seconds of abject shock.

“Bruce,” Tony breathed.

“Tony,” Bruce said softly.

“You… came back?”

“If you’ll let me,” Bruce said, his voice so soft, hiding so much yearning and hurt. Tony felt his face grow red and hot again, and he vacillated wildly between overwhelming relief and intense anger.

“I can’t believe-” he said tightly, his knuckles white on his cane. He tried not to be furious, because he was also blindingly overjoyed. But he didn’t have enough room in his body to feel both at the same time, and the hurt and anger won out in the end. Everything he felt abruptly spilled out of him in a single scathing, brutally honest eruption. 

“Jesus fucking- You’ve never hurt me so much. No one’s _ever_ hurt me that much Bruce, and that’s saying something, considering my own godfather tried to kill me!”

Tony took a measured step forward, one hand gripping his cane as if it were a weapon, the other jabbing an accusing finger in Bruce’s direction.

“You _promised_ me. You promised you’d never run out on me, and I believed you, I _trusted_ you! Do you understand how difficult that is for me? To trust someone the way I trusted you? Goddammit, I gave you everything my heart could give! I gave you my _life!_ And- and you just looked at me and told me to leave, you said you _didn’t even care,_ after everything we did, everything _I_ did… my god, how could you look me in the eye and _do_ that to me? Did you ever _really_ love me?” 

Tony’s voice was tightly controlled, but the pain dripped from his tone like lava. Bruce looked positively agonized.

“Tony, I know, I’m- you have no idea how sorry I am, how much I regret- Please, I’m begging you to forgive me,” Bruce pleaded, “I was so shocked to see you, and I’m still so scared I’ll hurt you again, but I couldn’t bear to be away, and I couldn’t bear to keep hurting you like that. I want to be with you. I want us to be happy again. I love you so, so much. More than I can ever express. Please, just… _please.”_

Tony gaped, aghast at every word out of Bruce’s mouth, counter to everything he’d told Tony in Mexico, like they could both just brush everything under the rug. As though Bruce had never lost his memories, as though they both hadn’t nearly destroyed themselves, as though Bruce hadn’t left Tony to die and threw him away when Tony came for him, as though they were happy and in love and not a speck of suffering had ever blemished their bliss. Tony’s voice rose, his anger coloring everything red.

“I don’t think my heart could take it if you did that to me again! Can you even _fathom_ what I’ve- how much you’ve- _Fuck!_ I’m scared now, Bruce. You’ve got me thinking that if there’s another accident, I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again, and I can’t take that!” 

There were tears on Bruce’s face and his hands shook as he clutched the photo to his chest, and Tony could see a glimmer of the other guy in his sad eyes.

“Well, I’m scared that if there’s another accident, you won’t wake up at all,” Bruce whispered, his voice surprisingly dry. “So I guess that makes us square.”

Tony was speechless for once in his life. He shifted from foot to foot, digging his thumb into his palm, and abruptly dropped his eyes to the stone floor. 

“I can’t- I’m going to-“ Tony stammered, then took a breath and looked up at Bruce determinedly, his voice calm and controlled again. “I’m going down to my workshop. I need time to think,” he said, relieved that he was able to get that much out without breaking down. He turned quickly back to the elevator, which Jarvis had helpfully opened for him, and rested his forehead against the cool paneled wall all the way down as he tried not to completely lose it. 

He simply reeled. He was in shock. All that time spent in aimless depression after coming back from Mexico, and now here was Bruce, wanting to come home. Why wasn’t Tony in his arms? Kissing him the way he’d wanted to for a year? Was Tony really that angry?

Tony stepped off the elevator and roamed his workshop purposelessly as he thought. He ricocheted back and forth from anger to forgiveness like the pendulum of a clock, slipping uncontrollably from hot, tearful fury, to full-bodied, unbridled joy. It was exhausting. 

Tony obviously would take Bruce back; he obviously was filled with relief. But he was pissed at himself for acting this way, for even needing time to process, when he’d wished for this all along. And in some measure, was pissed at Bruce for having the gall- no. Tony shook his head at himself. It wasn’t a matter of _gall,_ of purposefully hurting Tony. Bruce was terrified, and was hurting just as much as Tony was, and it must have taken a breathtaking measure of bravery and humility to come back to Tony.

Especially after having been such a breathtaking _asshole._

Tony sat on his plush leather couch with a sigh and wiped his face on the hem of his shirt. He was being unfair to them both. He dropped his head into his hands. He wanted to go back up to Bruce, but he needed more time, more-

“Sir,” Jarvis interrupted. “Dr. Banner has expressed interest in seeing the rest of the team, but requested that I gain your permission first.” Tony looked up in surprise, frowning.

“Of course he- Jesus. Jarvis, tell him he doesn’t need my permission to go talk to his own friends in his own home,” Tony said, flopping on his side in exasperation, pulling a throw blanket up to his chin for some small measure of comfort. “God, I’m not that much of an asshole, am I?” he mumbled rhetorically.

“Shall I give you an honest answer, Sir?” Jarvis replied, and Tony scowled.

“Not if you value your servers,” he said, but appreciated Jarvis’ dry banter nonetheless.

“Duly noted, Sir.”

Tony curled on the couch and stared at the TV on mute for a long time, thinking and arguing with himself and letting his mind wander blankly, but he didn’t realize he’d eventually fallen asleep until he drifted back awake to the smell of fresh coffee. After a moment, he realized there was a warm, rough hand holding his, their fingers laced together, and a familiar, spicy scent nearby that had his heart lurching in forgotten contentment. He slowly blinked his eyes open, and there was Bruce, sitting on the floor beside the couch, holding Tony’s hand and smiling almost shyly at him. Tony noticed his eyes were red, as though he’d done a fair bit of crying.

“I brought you coffee,” Bruce said softly, as if it were a gesture of goodwill. Tony couldn’t help but smile just a little, most of it hidden by the blanket tucked over his chin.

“I see you remember my second biggest weakness,” Tony said just as softly, his anger from earlier beginning to fade at the sight of that crinkled smile and Bruce’s familiar warmth so close to him once again.

“Dare I ask your first biggest weakness?” Bruce asked, hesitantly scooting a bit closer, and Tony pushed the blanket off a little, squeezing Bruce’s hand.

“I think you already know.”

Bruce ducked his head, looking at their laced fingers for awhile. 

“Steve told me what happened. After. What you went through. They all, uh… I guess you could say dressed me down a little. Steve used his Cap voice and everything, made me feel about an inch tall, not that I didn’t deserve it,” Bruce murmured, raking his fingers through his hair with a humorless huff. Tony couldn’t help feeling a little vindictive stab of pleasure that their friends had exchanged a few words with Bruce, but that faded instantly when Tony met Bruce’s eyes and saw the pain and distress there. 

“Tony, I’m so, so sorry,” Bruce whispered. “I never should have run. You needed me and I was so selfish and abandoned you in the most horrible way possible. This is my home. _You’re_ my home. I made you a promise and I broke it, and I swear I’ll never do it again.” His voice cracked a little, and he rubbed his thumb nervously against Tony’s knuckle. Tony softened as Bruce spoke, and reached for Bruce’s other hand, pulling it close to his chest. 

“I should be apologizing. I was unfair. I focused so much on how much I was hurting, that I didn’t put you first,” he said, and Bruce looked up with a completely aghast expression that had Tony quickly replaying the words in his head, trying to figure out what he said wrong.

“Tony, that was _all you did,_ was put me first. You were so self-sacrificing that it hurts my heart to think of what you went through trying to get my memories back. You weren’t a lone wolf. You had the whole team helping. You leaned on everyone, and let them lean on you. Tony, I’m _humiliated_ at how I reacted, the danger I put you in, after what you did for me,” he said, leaving no room for argument. “Tony, you didn't just save my memories. You saved _me.”_

Tony looked at Bruce with open adoration, his anger finally ebbing away completely.

“I’d do anything for you, Bruce,” Tony said quietly, his voice tender with forgiveness, and Bruce reached up to cup his cheek.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, Tony,” he said, his voice tinged with a bit of sadness.

Tony closed his eyes and leaned into the warm palm on his cheek, longing for Bruce’s touch. The intimacy of the gesture made him ache. For so long he’d needed this and couldn’t have it. 

“I missed you so much, Honey… It was the worst torture I’ve ever lived. I just- I can’t-” he mumbled, his words a crumbling mess in his throat. He kissed Bruce’s palm, his brow furrowing when he heard Bruce sniffle.

He looked back up at Bruce; his heart pounded, and his tongue was too big for his mouth, as he asked the question he’d been wondering and dreading since the accident.

“How much to you remember?” he whispered, afraid of the answer. 

“Everything. Tony, I remember _everything.”_

“Oh god, Bruce… It _worked?”_

Bruce nodded, and his lips slowly spread into a tearful smile that held thousands of memories.

Tony sat up and Bruce lunged forward, and so much agony melted away in that single bright moment. They finally, _finally,_ held each other, whole and loving and together again.

“Tony, I love you so much,” Bruce breathed against the crook of Tony’s neck, and Tony laughed a watery laugh. 

“Say it again. Please, just- just say it again,” Tony whispered, his chest tight and overflowing at finally hearing those blessed words from Bruce, here, safe and unbroken in his arms. Bruce echoed the watery laugh.

“I love you,” he murmured, kissing Tony’s shoulder. “I love you,” he kissed Tony’s jaw. “I love you, sweetheart. My Tinman,” and he kissed Tony below the ear, the way he always did before. “I have a home with you, a home in your heart. Apparently I was stupid enough to have to leave, before I understood just how precious that is to me. Sweetheart, I’m never, ever making that mistake again. You’re stuck with me,” Bruce whispered against Tony’s warm skin. 

Tony trembled all over, shifting off the couch so he was in Bruce’s lap on the floor, clutching him as though Bruce might waft away into the ether if Tony let go even a little bit. 

“I love you, Bruce. Honey, I love you so much,” Tony whispered shakily, pulling back to look at Bruce’s tentatively hopeful hazel eyes. “I love you. I treasure you. You have my heart, Greenbean. Jesus, listen to me, you’ve turned me into a sap.” He tucked a lock of hair behind Bruce’s ear and basked in Bruce’s smile, a little smirk playing at the corner of his own lips.

“So Steve really used his Cap voice on you, huh?” he teased, and Bruce laughed, pulling him into an even tighter hug.

“Hey, there were some pretty intense hugs and tears in there too, you know. But I definitely felt like I was supposed to salute or something afterward,” Bruce said with a little laugh, ducking his head.

Tony smiled crookedly at Bruce’s dry laugh, falling blindingly in love all over again, if such a thing was even possible. Impulsively, he closed the distance between them, hesitantly brushing their lips together and letting the tiniest, neediest noise escape his throat as he did. Their lips parted, and the millimeter of breath between them scorched into his core, burning brighter than his arc reactor. The split second became eternity, and Tony’s euphoria existed at all points in time and space simultaneously, in just that one moment of kiss.

Then with a profoundly contented sigh, Bruce cupped the nape of Tony’s neck, pulling him back in and deepening the kiss, making it real. Not a dream, not a wish, not a fabrication of fleeting memory. Bruce was home again, whole again, and in Tony’s arms. 

And it was as though the crushing darkness lifted, and blinding light and vibrant life and endless delight and wonder _finally_ flooded Tony’s world again.


	23. Chapter 23

  
****

**Several months later**

  


Tony leaned comfortably against one of the Italian honey birch paneled walls of the darkened penthouse, just enjoying the city lights in the darkest hours of the late, sleepy night. So much time had passed since he’d just had the chance to sit and enjoy his surroundings, his life, that he’d almost forgotten what it was like to have a sense of awe and wonder again. He lost those when he lost Bruce, and having all three missing from his life made him a different person, someone he never wanted to be again.

He studied the chrome gargoyles on the Chrysler Building with interest, until he heard the faint hiss of the elevator slide open. He smiled at the glittering steel and sipped his cooling coffee.

“Tony? What are you doing up here in the dark?” Bruce asked, setting down his tablet and cardigan on the couch on his way to Tony’s side. 

“Just looking at the lights. Sometimes I forget why I damn near bought out the whole island just so I could put the tower here. Isn’t the view something?” Tony said, sighing and leaning back when he felt Bruce’s arms wrap around him from behind.

“It’s something, all right,” Bruce said softly, amusement coloring his voice. He rested his chin on Tony’s shoulder, and Tony nuzzled his cheek against Bruce’s. “So that’s why you’re lurking up here in the dark like a ghost?” Bruce teased. Tony turned in his arms, wrapping him up in a hug and kissing him softly, despite his smirk.

“Pfft, _lurking._ You act like I’m up to something,” he murmured in mock defense. “Nah. I’m just waiting for you.” Tony smiled against Bruce’s lips, touching their foreheads together when he felt Bruce’s sweet smile in return.

“You could have come and interrupted me,” Bruce said, pressing a little closer, until Tony found his back pressed against the glass window. “You know I like being interrupted by you.”

Tony laughed quietly, sliding his hands down to rest at the base of Bruce’s spine, his fingers slipping into Bruce’s waistband. 

“I’m not generally okay with waiting on _anyone,_ so consider yourself the lucky exception. The waiting is almost as good as when you actually get here. _Almost,”_ Tony said with a little smirk. Bruce snorted a little.

“What’s got you feeling so sentimental tonight?” he asked with amusement, sliding his hands under the hem of Tony’s shirt. 

“Believe it or not, sometimes I _do_ just take a moment to just think. And a sizeable chunk of that is spent thinking about you.” He kissed Bruce on the tip of the nose, then buried his face in the crook of Bruce’s neck, breathing him in and holding him tightly. 

“I get to thinking… remembering…” Tony took a breath, his whisper muffled in the cotton of Bruce’s shirt. “I was filing away some documents in the archives today and I came across all of Thor’s translations when we were trying to fix- and I… just having you back. You don’t know what it means to me.”

“Oh, Tony…” Bruce breathed, pulling back so he could tip Tony’s chin up, their eyes locked. “I think I do.” He leaned in and brushed their lips together, and Tony melted against him, they way he did every time Bruce touched him. He deepened their kiss; languidly at first, but growing more insistent and needy, until they were both breathless and panting against each other, their heat steaming up the window that Tony was still pressed against. When Bruce slipped a thigh between Tony’s, Tony gasped sweetly and smirked against Bruce’s lips.

“We gonna do this right here in front of Lady Liberty and eight million of her closest friends?” he teased, and Bruce laughed low in his throat, a sound that always made Tony shiver from his spine to his toes. 

“Bedroom. I’m still going to be fucking you when the sun comes up,” Bruce growled with a teasing grin of his own, and Tony laughed, catching Bruce’s bottom lip between his teeth. 

“We’re going to need to brew another pot of coffee, then,” Tony purred, slipping out from between Bruce and the glass window as easily as a cat, swatting Bruce on the ass as he did so. Bruce laughed and scooted up behind Tony, nibbling his nape as the slowly made their way to the bedroom. 

Tony tucked his chin and laughed quietly the way he did, when Bruce tickled his waist and skimmed his hands under his t-shirt and over his ribs. His heart jumped a little, reminding him how in love he was. Tony turned in his arms and happily returned his playful tickle, interrupting Bruce’s little huff with a kiss. 

“What’s so funny, Greenbean?” Tony whispered, and Bruce tugged Tony close by the waistband, pressing his lips to Tony’s ear, raising goosebumps all the way to the tips of Tony’s fingertips. 

“I’m just happy to see you,” Bruce breathed mischievously. “If only I could see more.”

“Oh, is that all?”

“And a few other things.”

“Mm, such as?”

Bruce kissed his way down Tony’s collarbone, running his palms slowly down Tony’s back and smiling against his warm skin, until Tony tipped his head back and sighed blissfully. 

“Well, that’s a start,” Bruce murmured. “Is it too cliché to say I want to kiss every inch of your body?” He started a path of gentle kisses over Tony’s shoulder, just as Tony laughed again, a sweet, soft sound that made Bruce press closer and murmur something unintelligible into Tony’s collarbone.

“Disgustingly cliché.” Tony pressed his hips against Bruce’s, wiggling the tiniest bit and smirking. “I got a suggestion on where you can start,” he teased, and Bruce squeezed his ass hard.

“God, you’re such a brat, I love it,” Bruce said, backing Tony up to the bed and pushing him down, crawling over him and caging him against the mattress as he kissed him thoroughly. It wasn’t too long before Tony got impatient and began to tug at Bruce’s shirt. 

“Dr. Banner, I do believe you’re overdressed for this particular soiree,” Tony said, and Bruce just grinned, straddling Tony’s hips as he sat up, taking his time and grinding down on Tony as he removed his own shirt. Tony stroked his hands over Bruce’s bare chest, then shoulders, as Bruce bent and nosed at Tony’s stomach and leisurely unbuttoned Tony’s jeans. 

Tony was perfectly happy to lay there with a stupid grin while Bruce took his time undressing him and fulfilling his promise of kissing every inch of Tony’s body. Bruce hummed fragments of a little tune as he did, carefully kissing the delicate curve of Tony’s ankle, his soft, pale inner thigh, the tender skin around his arc reactor (with a newly engraved lock ring, one of the first things Bruce had done for Tony when he came back), and little sweet kisses on Tony’s belly button. 

Tony laid there in half-hypnotized bliss, touching Bruce wherever he could, wrapping his legs around Bruce’s waist to pull him closer, tangling his fingers in Bruce’s halo of soft curls. 

Ever since Bruce came back to him, it felt like they both had a lifetime of love to make up for. Their first time after was quivering and frantic and desperate, and they were insatiable for weeks. Every casual touch from Bruce was enough set Tony’s skin on fire, and every moment they were alone, Bruce was on him, pressing against him and breathing his devotion into Tony’s skin like prayers. Tony utterly devoured Bruce’s attention, thirsting for him like a man in a desert thirsts for water. 

They consumed each other, needing constant connection to heal everything that had been hurt or lost between them. Sometimes it was soft, late night talks, or revisiting old memories, or making new ones and treasuring them just as much. Sometimes it was gentle lovemaking, sometimes it was a rough fuck, and sometimes…

“Oh my god, if you don’t stop tickling me, I’m going on strike,” Tony laughed, squirming and pushing playfully at Bruce, who grinned as he nuzzled his stubble against Tony’s ribs. 

“What are you going to strike against? Too many kisses?” Bruce teased, and Tony snorted.

“Too much sass maybe, since you’re so full of bullshi- ahhh-“ Tony’s sentence faded into a soft moan as Bruce slipped a hand between them and stroked Tony’s cock, slow and firm, until Tony arched off the bed, pressing into Bruce’s chest, wanting to be as close as possible.

“What was that you were saying?” Bruce growled with a dark smile, and Tony huffed a hard breath, his tongue running over his bottom lip. He could just lose himself in Bruce’s eyes, that dark look he gave Tony, only for him. Tony was unquenchable. 

An hour of languid exploration of each other’s bodies with their lips passed, the two of them sharing teasing, humid kisses in the softest, tenderest spots, before Bruce settled himself against the headboard and pulled Tony close so he straddled Bruce’s lap. 

Tony arched and let his head fall back, as Bruce trailed his lips over his chest and slid his hand between Tony’s thighs, making love to Tony with his fingers. Bruce was always so thorough and loving, and could drag even just this out for hours, until Tony lost his mind. Tony lazily stroked himself, rolling his hips against Bruce like a gentle tide, as Bruce moved his fingers inside him. 

They could stay like this all night, nuzzling into each other with breathy whispers and teasing tickles and soft, muffled laughs, each of them holding the other as if to never let go. It was sunrise before Tony finally sighed deeply and sank onto Bruce’s cock, his head bent to kiss Bruce’s temple. Bruce pushed up into Tony, moaning quietly and pressing his forehead against Tony’s arc reactor, his breath fogging up the casing.

Tony smiled and pressed “I love you’s” into Bruce’s curls, laughing quietly at Bruce’s endearing “whoops” when he slipped out once. Bruce stroked his hands up and down Tony’s back, moaning softly with lusty defeat when Tony arched backwards and let the long, lean lines of his body drape liquidly over Bruce’s hands.

“You’re killing me, Tone,” Bruce breathed, bending to kiss Tony’s stomach, and Tony ground his hips against him in little circles with a smug sigh.

“You’ll survive,” he whispered, arching back up to wrap his arms around Bruce. They just stayed like that for a long time, enjoying each other’s bodies, and when they got too close to the sparkling brink of climax, they backed off with breathy laughter, trying to drag out their closeness and pleasure as long as possible. They danced on the edge for hours, glowing hot and bright together in that intense moment just before orgasm, until the temptation to succumb was insurmountable.

“I don’t think I can last any longer…” Tony sighed, his words catching beautifully in his throat when Bruce gently sucked a nipple. He wrapped his legs more tightly around Bruce’s waist and tangled his fingers in the sweat-damp hair at the nape of his neck, curling himself into the crook of Bruce’s shoulder as Bruce stroked him slowly, their breaths hitching and humid between them. 

“Come for me then?” Bruce whispered sweetly, and Tony positively melted.

“Anything… god, anything for you…” Tony breathed, meaning it in every sense of the word, to the core of his very being. He would truly do anything for Bruce. He made the softest, sweetest noise when he came, Bruce’s hand both rough and gentle, and Tony felt completely engulfed by him; his touch, his pleasure, his scent, every sighing, perfect gasp, consuming all of Tony’s senses in an exquisite, overwhelming surge of ecstasy…

Tony moved his hips a little more insistently, eliciting a small groan from Bruce, and Tony gave him a dazed, half-lidded smile, tipping Bruce’s face up to him to steal kisses.

“Your turn, sweetheart,” Tony whispered, breathing the words into Bruce’s mouth and pressing honeyed kisses to his lips. Bruce smiled back, catching Tony’s bottom lip between his teeth. Bruce didn’t say anything, but when Tony pulled back a little, he could see the unrestrained adoration in Bruce’s eyes, and as Bruce shuddered and pulsed into him, Tony knew he’d never felt so loved or so adored in his entire life. 

“God, I love you so much,” Tony whispered, kissing Bruce through his orgasm, and then Bruce pulled him impossibly closer, burying his face against Tony’s shoulder. 

“You’re the light at the end of my tunnel, Tone. I hope you realize that,” he whispered, his broad hands holding Tony everywhere as they collapsed slowly and haphazardly into the sheets.

“Such a poet,” Tony teased softly, shifting onto his side so he could face Bruce and tangle their legs together, both of them exhausted. Bruce laughed, a quiet, joyful sound that filled Tony’s heart with happiness and relief every time he heard it.

“Don’t you tease me, I’m still trying to catch my breath,” Bruce panted, and Tony scooted closer.

“Here, you can have some of mine,” he whispered, and kissed Bruce again, making out with him like they hadn’t been making love all night, like they were just getting started. They didn’t stop until the sun was high enough to shine rich, golden yellow in their eyes, and Bruce squinted, laughing to himself.

“What?” Tony asked, smiling despite himself, just at the sight of Bruce being happy. 

“I told you I’d still be fucking you when the sun came up,” Bruce said slyly, and Tony swatted his arm

“Mm-hm, so your new superpower is fortune-telling, then?” Tony said, pushing aside the sheet they’d wiped off on, and pulling up the blanket with a yawn. “Sleep with me, doctor. I’m incapable of further banter until I’ve had five hours and a pot of coffee, in that order.” Bruce just laughed again, wrapping his arms around Tony.

“Make it nine hours and a plate of waffles, then we’ll talk. Jarvis, darken windows, please,” he said with a smile. They held and kissed each other, sharing gentle murmurs and soft laughs until eventually they drifted off, curled in each other’s arms, clinging to every moment spent together, even in sleep. 

Three hours later, the lights in the room brightened. 

“Sir, Doctor Banner, my apologies for interrupting your sleep, but the Avengers have been requested to assemble in the quinjet hangar immediately,” Jarvis said politely, and Tony and Bruce both sat up quickly, half asleep and half in that semi-panicked state of adrenaline burst that happened every time they were called to assemble. 

“J, what- what time, what’s going-“ Tony mumbled, swaying to his feet and fumbling with a pair of pants. 

“It is 11:32 in the morning, Sir. The threat appears to be a wave of drones equipped with ion bombs. The first wave has not yet breached the city.”

Bruce stumbled about trying to get dressed, and Tony reached for his hand, stilling him. He knew what they were both thinking. 

“And Bruce?” Tony asked. Jarvis paused a moment and Tony’s heart sank.

“Doctor Banner’s assistance has been requested as well,” Jarvis said, and Tony looked at Bruce, the worry and fear clear in his eyes. They’d done endless experiments and multitudes of tests, but once Bruce was back, they both had been too afraid to risk him Hulking out, just in case they lost everything again. This would be the first time Bruce Hulked out since he got his memories back, and neither of them were certain in any way that he wouldn’t lose them all over again when he changed back. 

Bruce shook his head, and Tony ached at the apprehension and desperation so clear on his face.

“Tony, I- I can’t, we don’t know if-“ Bruce started, but glanced up when the intercom line opened.

“Tony! Bruce! Need you in the quinjet, stat,” Steve barked, and Tony squeezed Bruce’s hand.

“On my way, Cap. But Bruce is sitting this one out, got it?” Tony said.

“Not gonna work, guys. We need Hulk on this one. Wheels up in ten, move your asses,” Steve said cutting off the intercom before Tony could do anything but bristle. He turned to Bruce, holding both his hands.

“You don’t have to do anything, Bruce,” Tony said, but Bruce wouldn’t meet Tony’s eyes. Instead, he turned his face away and stared out the window onto the city, presumably thinking about all those people, and bounced his leg nervously. 

“I have to, Tony,” he finally whispered. “I can’t just leave you guys and risk more lives being lost. And… this is my chance to make up for all the damage I did before, and to- to know for sure…” he mumbled nervously, and Tony felt a knot in his stomach that just kept tightening. 

“What if…?” he whispered, and was cut off when Bruce abruptly pulled him into a kiss.

“I have to, Tony,” he whispered, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes, as though in prayer. “It’ll be all right. It has to be.” 

They didn’t move until Steve barked at them through the intercom again, and after a mad scramble and a half hour, the team found themselves suited up and landing the quinjet on the outskirts. They could see what looked like a cloud of black heading toward them, and hear the distant hum of the drones. In the quiet before the fight, Bruce and Tony held hands tightly, Tony’s facemask pulled back and his eyes on Bruce, instead of the drones. One by one, their friends surrounded them, pressed close, hands on shoulders, sharing in Tony and Bruce’s fear. 

“It’s going to be all right, guys,” Steve said quietly. 

“You two have this in the bag. C’mon, it might even be fun,” Rhodey said, and Natasha nodded.

“There’s no reason this will be like last time. You’ve done the tests,” she added.

“And we know what to do if something goes wrong,” Clint said, as Thor set his hammer on the ground amid them and pulled them all into a tight, albeit clumsy hug. 

“My friends, we cannot be torn asunder. We’ve beaten back a nightmare and emerged the victors. If called upon to battle the same nightmare, we will emerge victorious once more,” he said with gentle confidence. 

Tony cursed the stinging in his eyes. Not just at the kindness of their friends, but at his true, abject fear of losing Bruce again.

“I love you, Greenbean,” Tony whispered thickly, pulling Bruce close, awkward against his armor. It felt like saying goodbye, and he hated it. Bruce cupped his cheek, and gave him a watery smile.

“I love you too, Tinman,” he breathed, and gave Tony one more precious kiss, before taking a breath and stepping back. 

“Ready?” Steve asked Bruce, a hand on his shoulder. Bruce took a few deep breaths, his eyes riveted to Tony’s.

“Ready.”

Tony’s hand lingered on Bruce’s, but finally, he stepped back with the others. He never broke eye contact with Bruce, right up until the moment his eyes bled acid green and he coiled in on himself, before bursting out of his skin with a roar, bones snapping and deafening rage sending shivers up Tony’s spine. Once he was fully transformed, Tony approached Hulk by a few steps.

“Greenbean? Ready to smash?” he asked tentatively, and Hulk just stood there, staring at him with narrowed eyes, every moment growing more and more tense, until a bead of sweat rolled down Tony’s spine inside the suit. 

Finally Hulk huffed a breath and turned away, stalking towards the drones.

“I catch,” he rumbled, and absolutely none of Tony’s apprehension was relieved in the slightest. He lowered his mask and hovered into the air along with War Machine and Thor, who assisted Hawkeye in getting to a higher point. Tony felt sick with worry the whole time. He did his best to focus on Steve’s orders.

“All right. Black Widow and I will shoot from the ground. Thor, Iron Man, War Machine, Hawkeye, stay high and disable the drones. Our goal is to disable the drones without detonating the bombs. Hulk, that’s your job. Smash ‘em, crush ‘em, hell, swallow ‘em if you want, but detonate those bombs and contain the explosion. Everyone understand?” Steve said in his clearest command voice, earning an affirmative from everyone and a grunt from Hulk.

The hum of the drones soon turned into a roar, as they became utterly engulfed by them. Large and small, all of them equipped with a blinking blue cylinder on their back. Thor batted them out of the sky with his hammer, and Tony and Rhodey were able to fly close and dismantle the aerial capabilities with their repulsors, or even just by hand. Hawkeye, Widow, and Cap fired bullets and arrows into the rotors, and one by one, the drones fell to the ground.

As fast as they fell, Hulk caught them, crushing each blue cylinder between his palms until he grunted, a flash of white light and a muffled explosion forcing his hands apart with each detonation. There were hundreds of ion bombs, and the more Hulk detonated, the more his grunts turned into roars, and Tony knew him well enough to know that it was frustration and pain and anger coming out. 

It was like battling a swarm of human-sized wasps that also happened to be armed with deadly explosives. Tony was overcome by a cloud of drones at one point, many of them armed with a surprising amount of weaponry, and nearly fell out of the sky before unibeaming his way out of there and getting slammed into a rock face by the resulting explosions. Hulk roared in his direction, and Tony pushed off the rock with a winded groan.

“I’m fine, Jesus, I’m fine,” he panted as calls from the others rolled in on the comms to check on him. The only thing he could focus on right now, besides catching his breath and dodging drones, was that Hulk had turned his attention to Tony, for the briefest of moments, when it appeared that there might be a chance that Tony had been hurt. 

The hope that Bruce was still in there hurt as much as the fear that he wasn’t. 

He dove back into the cloud of drones, the explosions loud and bone-rattling, even inside the suit. He had no idea how long it was until the last explosion went off, and relieved silence fell over them all. The only sound to be heard over the comms was ragged breathing, and many minutes passed before everyone lowered their weapons warily, reconvening near the quinjet. 

“I think that might be it,” Steve said with a tone of not wanting to jinx it. He must have run into trouble himself, because his uniform sleeve was torn and his arm bleeding. Tony looked around the group, and they were all in rough shape. The only one who wasn’t there was Hulk. Tony turned around, and could see him in the distance, kicking at rubble angrily, rubbing his blackened hands together and shaking them out as though they hurt.

“Be right back,” he said absently, and jetted over to where Hulk was letting out his frustration on a pile of metal. 

“Hey, Greenbean. You okay?” Tony said, hovering in Hulk’s field of vision, staying just out of reach, unusually wary, given their history of closeness. Tony wasn’t eager for a repeat of just about getting crushed in Hulk’s fist, and until he knew if Bruce was still in there or not, that was a very real risk. 

Hulk glared up at Tony, eyes roving over Tony quickly as though to check for damage, and huffed a growl. 

“Go away,” he rumbled, and Tony got out of there without another word, heading back to the others, knots upon knots twisting up his insides at Hulk’s tone. As soon as he landed, he was pacing and shaking out his hands and ignoring questions from the others. He alternately felt suffocated and protected by his suit, and was in and out of it repeatedly, until Thor stopped him with two hands on his shoulders.

“My brother. There is naught to do but wait. We are by your side. Let him have his time,” he said patiently, and Tony scrubbed his hands over his face, raking his fingers through his hair. 

“I’m going to die waiting. No hyperbole. Fuck,” Tony muttered, walking over to the edge of the quinjet ramp and bracing a hand on the metal as he bent double and spit. God, he felt like he’d be sick. 

“What if he doesn’t come back?” he muttered to himself, not realizing anyone was close enough to hear until Natasha rubbed his back with one hand. 

“I know you’re scared, Tony. Come sit with us while we wait, okay? It’ll be better than pacing around over here alone,” she said, and he couldn’t ignore her logic. He joined the others where they were seated on the hatch ramp, leaving his armor standing sentinel beside the ramp. They all watched Hulk let out his frustration, and waited.

And waited.

Tony drew his knees up to his chest and rubbed his shaking hands up and down his shins nervously, never tearing his eyes from Hulk. Clint offered him a bottle of water, and Tony ignored it, his stomach roiling with acid and fear, and waited.

The stillness, only broken by occasional distant crashes and grunts, was oppressive and excruciatingly tense. Tony saw sweat on Steve’s temple, lips pressed thin. Natasha bounced her leg and clicked the safety of her empty handgun on and off, on and off. Clint lightly twanged his fingertips against his bowstring over and over, and Thor spun Mjölnir’s grip in his hands restlessly. Rhodey watched Tony intently, while Tony watched Hulk just as intently. 

Nobody breathed a word. 

The sun was getting low when Tony stiffened, sitting more upright and narrowing his eyes into the distance. Immediately, everyone was alert, watching him, or watching the horizon.

“Listen,” Tony whispered. There was finally silence. Eerie, heavy silence. Steve stood immediately.

“Let’s go,” he said, and everyone was up in an instant. Clint shaded his eyes against the sun for a moment, and pointed to an outcropping of trees. 

“There. I think I see him, about half a click away. You wanna fly?” he asked, but Tony was already in his suit and gone before Clint finished his sentence. His heart pounded painfully against his arc reactor casing, and when he reached the trees, there was Bruce lying amid the trunks, unconscious, barely covered in his tattered clothing. 

“Bruce…” Tony breathed, stepping out of the suit and dropping to his knees beside Bruce’s side, but there was no response. Tony wrapped an arm around himself, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the bridge of his nose with the other. He was goddamn near tears again. He couldn’t even entertain the notion of Bruce waking up without his memories again. 

Tony took deep, measured breaths to keep himself calm, and didn’t look up until he heard the others approaching. 

“Anything yet?” Steve asked, handing Tony a blanket to cover Bruce with. Tony shook his head, spreading the blanket out.

“No.”

A palpable wave of disappointment shuddered through the group, and they all sat down, surrounding Bruce so he would have familiar faces smiling at him when he woke up. 

Tony sat closest, cross-legged so that his hip was nestled against Bruce’s side, and he held Bruce’s hand, rubbing it gently between his. His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth, his mind racing, already preparing for the worst-case scenario, and he shivered unconsciously.

It seemed like eons before Bruce stirred, furrowing his brow and mumbling. Tony instantly laser-focused on him.

“Bruce? Baby, can you hear me?” he said, trying not to sound frantic. 

“My hands hurt…” Bruce mumbled almost incoherently, and Tony held them both gently, rubbing his thumbs over Bruce’s knuckles. Tony smiled tightly.

“That’s because you just used them to save a lot of lives,” he said, and then Bruce finally blinked his eyes open.

He looked at Tony with complete blankness, and Tony’s face was wet with and his heart was dying.

“Hey, Greenbean,” Tony said thickly, not noticing the comforting hands of his friends rubbing his back or shoulders. “Remember me?”

“I don’t-“ Bruce started, frowning in confusion as he looked around the group, “who…?”

Tony’s heart crumbled to ash.

A tear fell on the back of Bruce’s hand as Tony’s head fell, his whole body crumpling in; he couldn’t do this again, he couldn’t live, he couldn’t stop the sob that strangled his voice, he couldn’t breathe…

One of Bruce’s hands pulled away, and Tony let it go. Of course he wouldn’t want to hold Tony’s hand, if he didn’t even recognize who the hell he was, or why the hell he-

“Tony, honey, don’t cry.”

Tony snapped his head up, tears blurring his vision. He felt a warm, gentle, calloused hand cup his cheek. 

I’m here, Tone. I’m all here. All of me,” Bruce murmured, weakly pushing himself upright with a little assistance from Steve, and Tony lost himself to another sob.

“Bruce? You remember?” he asked in a pathetic voice, and Bruce smiled tiredly, and nodded.

“Everything. Especially you.”

“Oh god…” Tony collapsed into Bruce’s arms, and they were both crying and so were their friends, and they were surrounded by love and warmth and Bruce remembered, god in heaven he _remembered._

“I love you, Greenbean, you goddamned jerk,” Tony said, crying openly, laughing a little hysterically. “I thought you didn’t- you weren’t-“

Bruce’s breathing hitched and he laughed too, his face pressed into the crook of Tony’s neck. Tony didn’t care about the sweat or dust or anything but Bruce, and just buried his face in Bruce’s wild hair and breathed him in.

“I just couldn’t figure out why my hands hurt so much,” he said, and Tony swatted his arm, then held him even tighter.

“I hope you know I just about died,” Tony whispered, and Bruce pulled back, touching their foreheads. He held Tony’s face, and Tony held Bruce’s wrists, and someone in the background was definitely crying.

“Tony, I love you so, so much,” Bruce whispered. Tony gasped for a breath, nodding helplessly. 

“I love you too, Bruce…” Tony breathed, melting against Bruce again.

“I’m always going to come back to you, Tony. You’re my home.”

Tony tipped his face up, and Bruce was lit from behind by the saturated yellow sunset and looked like an angel, and Tony could have slapped himself across the face for being such a shameless sap. He felt like a Klimt painting, drenched in rich gold and wrapped in warmth, as he finally smiled and pressed his lips to Bruce’s.

Later, Thor would wax poetic, all of them high on adrenaline and giddiness about Bruce. He passed around a flask of Asgardian mead in celebration, toasting his brothers in heroic, slightly drunken Asgardian tradition, describing them as a collision of stars. Millions of miles of inexorable momentum having brought them together- not quite into each other, but near enough that gravity did the rest. 

One of them was a red giant exhausted of fuel, nothing left to give, drifting into eternity, and the other was a scorching little O-type blue dwarf, burning too hard and fast. They spun around one another chaotically at first, mass and momentum fighting against the most basic and inescapable attraction known to man. 

Thor looked at them both with flushed and joyous love as he described how their wobbles evened out eventually, and they settled into a perfectly balanced dance, locked in orbit. They give and take, feeding each other fuel and energy and warmth, still distinct, but inseparable. So deeply entwined together that it seemed alien that they ever could have existed apart. 

Tony stared at Thor, then Bruce, who squinted at Thor in confusion.

“But that’s not how binary star systems work-“

“Did you just draw a parallel of our relationship to astronomical phenomena?“

“Do you usually get this poetic when you drink, or did you write that down first?

“I mean, it’s lovely and sentimental and all that, but is that really where we’re going with this?

Thor just laughed his booming laugh, standing to retrieve his flask from Tony, then squeezed his and Bruce’s shoulders. 

“My friends. The science does not have to be grounded in your concept of reality for the philosophy to be sound,” he said, and Tony snorted.

“Our ‘concept of reality,’ he says,” Tony muttered, but smiled sidelong at Bruce, when he felt that warm, familiar hand slide into his and squeeze. Maybe Thor had a point, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank all my readers, new and old, for sticking with me while I finished this! This fic is my baby, and it means a lot to me that you all came along with me on this very personal journey. 
> 
> I also want to personally thank my darling friend **jezi-belle,** who has cheerleaded me from the very start, and supported me in ways I can't even quantify during The Hiatus when I was so sick. I also want to credit her with Thor's joyous soliloquy at the end about how Tony and Bruce are like planets locked in binary orbit. She wrote that and I begged her to let me use it because it was so beautiful, and she graciously agreed. Thank you so much, Jezi. You gave me a reason to get up and keep on fighting, and helped me find my life again.
> 
> There are too many thank you's to list, but I hope you all enjoyed the story, and I love you all!


End file.
